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THE LEATHERNECK 



"DEAR FOLKS AT 
HOME " 

The glorious story of the United States Marines in 
France as told by their Letters from the Battlefield 

COMPILED BY 

KEMPER F. COWING 

n 
EDITED BY 

COURTNEY RYLEY COOPER 

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY 
MORGAN DENNIS, U.S.M.C. 




BOSTON AND NEW YORK 

HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 

QCbe j&ibersfttie 3^ttsifi CambriDge 

1919 



^1" 



COPYRIGHT, 1919, BV HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 



ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 



200 



FEB iu lyis 



>CI.A5]2304 



To him is due much of the love of the em- 
blem that glows in the heart of every 
United States Marine; to him is due the 
great recruiting organization which gath- 
ered into the Corps those men who fought 
and bled at Belleau Wood; to him is due 
this book and to him this book is afiFection- 
ately dedicated. His name is 

ALBERT S. McLEMORE 

COLONEL U.S. MARINE CORPS 



CONTENTS 

Introduction xi 

I. In the Process of Making 3 

II. On the Range 11 

III. The Lady Leathernecks 15 

IV. "This Vale of Mud and Tears" .... 25 
V. Quiet Days 48 

VI. In the Trenches 56 

VII. Christmas 63 

VIII. Mother 71 

IX. Before the Battle 79 

X. Under Fire 82 

XI. Belleau Wood 93 

XII. Little Elizabeth Ford 113 

XIII. Over the Top — with God 117 

XIV. The Quality of a Hero 124 

XV. After the Battle 130 

XVI. Breaking the News 156 

XVII. Another View of It 170 

XVm. "She too is a Marine" 178 

XIX. Two Sides of a Story 182 

XX. Out, In, and Out Again 187 



viii Contents 

XXI. Captured! 198 

XXII. From Two of the Six Thousand . . . .201 

XXIII. What They Think About 213 

XXIV. July Fourth — in Paris 226 

XXV. The Story of Two Battles 235 

XXVI. A Picture of War 249 

XXVII. "My Bunkie" . . 262 

XXVIII. The Reward of the Brave 276 



ILLUSTRATIONS 

The Leatherneck Frontispiece V 

The Finished Product 8/ 

"From the halls of Monte-zo-oma" 12 v 

Good-bye 16 

"If you meet any one, one has to get off in the mud" . 30 

"It takes more than one shell to break up a good crap 
game" 54 

" They don't run from us, either, like any ordinary rat " . 60 

The Field Telephone 66 

"Returned to our own trenches with one wounded, he 
being an officer " 72 

"Kamerad" 82 

"How she and the men escaped being annihilated is a 
mystery" 114 

"It was only because we rushed the positions that we 
were able to take them " 126 

"This is open warfare, just our style" 136 

"The boys all swung into action laughing and kidding 
each other" 160 

"The nurses are so good" 168 

"They are great taxicab riders, these wounded" . . 172 
"He remained at his post inspiring his men" . . . 182 



X Illustrations 

"The rest, including hot coffee, was brought up by our 
cooks" 194^ 

"I said 'thirty,' but he did n't believe me" . . . .198^ 

Devil Dog and Blue Devil 204 -^ 

Marine Machine Gunners 210 ^ 

"Took two shots at a wounded Marine and killed him" . 216 / 

"He received the Distinguished Service Cross from the 
hands of General Pershing himself " 230 ' 



"You should have seen us dig" 246 



/ 

We stopped to look at a new grave " 256 

"If they should get me, write mother" 262' 

"'Dear God,' she prayed, 'may I never meet the Ger- 



INTRODUCTION 

It was in the latter part of June, 1917, that two 
regiments of United States Marines, the Fifth and 
Sixth, landed on French soil, a part of the van- 
guard of millions of American troops that were 
to make their way across the Atlantic to crush 
the Hun. 

It was proper that they should be among the 
first to reach France, for they represented a fight- 
ing organization that had numbered many a "first " 
in its long history; they represented the oldest, 
proudest branch of the military service — for the 
Marine Corps officially came into being in America 
in 1775 by an act of the Continental Congress. 

They stood for century-old victories, these Ma- 
rines. They stood for the unfurling of the American 
flag for the first time above an Old- World fortress, 
in Tripoli, in 1803; for a share in the defeat of the 
Serapis by John Paul Jones, commanding the Bon- 
homme Richard; for the storming of the fortress 
of Chapul tepee, in the days of the Mexican War; 
for achievements at Guantanamo, Cuba, during the 
Spanish-American War, where a detachment fought 
off the assaults of six thousand Spaniards; for glo- 
rious devotion to duty in innumerable engagements 
and in scores of countries of the world, where they 



xii Introduction 

had fulfilled their duties as the Universal Peace- 
maker. Theirs, for instance, were the flag-draped 
caskets that returned to America from Vera Cruz, 
Mexico, in the troublous days of 1914; theirs the 
lives sacrificed that a Mexican commander might 
respect the honor of the American flag. 

Therefore, in keeping with all this, it was only 
natural that to the United States Marines should 
have fallen the honor of being among the first of 
America's troops to land in France. Indeed, theirs 
had been the first actual participation in America's 
war against Germany, for on the morning of April 
6, 1917, barely an hour after President Wilson had 
signed the Declaration of War, a detachment of 
United States Marines from the Philadelphia Navy 
Yard, under Major Robert L. Denig, boarded and 
seized the interned German ships then in Philadel- 
phia Harbor. 

What should be more fitting, therefore, than that 
the United States Marines should be among the 
first to land in France, and that, in the dark days 
of June, 1918, they should be called upon to form 
the wall of stone that would throw back the Hun 
advance on Paris, and change it from a victorious of- 
fensive to a disastrous defeat, lasting even unto the 
ultimate dissolution of Germany's hopes for the 
conquering of the world. At the battle of Chateau 
Thierry, of which Belleau Wood formed the scene of 
the main struggle, the United States Marines turned 



Introduction xiii 

back the Hun hordes, even though it cost a casualty 
hst amounting to nearly fifty per cent of the of- 
ficers and enUsted men. At Soissons, in the beginning 
of the great Allied offensive, July 18, they fought 
against almost insurmountable odds, lost two thou- 
sand men, from the ranks that had been refilled 
since Belleau Wood, and only ceased their advance 
when the extreme gravity of their losses made it 
imperative that they dig in and content themselves 
with holding the positions they had gained. At the 
battle for the Saint-Mihiel salient, they aided in 
restoring to France territory that had been lost for 
years, and helped in the capture of eighty German 
oflScers, thirty-two hundred men, ninety-odd can- 
non, and vast stores. In the freeing of Rheims, as 
a part of the Second Division, they scaled Blanc 
Mont Ridge, the sides of which had run red with 
Allied blood more than once, conquered it, went 
down the slopes on the other side, and occupied 
the plains beyond, tearing a great, gaping hole 
in the German defense that had its echo in the 
enemy's precipitate flight from Cambrai and St. 
Quentin. 

So gallant has been the conduct of the United 
States Marines in France that it has called forth 
congratulation after congratulation from both the 
Allied and the American commanders. 

After the battle of Belleau Wood, the French 
Staff sent the following message to them: 



xiv Introduction ^, 

Army H.Q., June 30, 1918 
In view of the brilliant conduct of the 4th Brigade 
of the 2nd U.S. Division, which, in a spirited fight, 
took Bouresches and the important strong point of 
Bois de Belleau, stubbornly defended by a large 
enemy force, the General Commanding the Vlth 
Army orders that henceforth, in all official papers, 
the Bois de Belleau shall be named, "Bois de la 
Brigade des Marines." 

Division General Degoutte 

Commanding Vlth Army 
(Signed) Degoutte 

To this was added the praise of General Pershing 
in the following order: 

The Brigade Commander takes pride in announcing 
that in addition to the Commander-in-Chief's tele- 
gram of congratulation to the 4th Brigade published 
in an endorsement from the Division Commander, 
dated June 9th, General Pershing has to-day visited 
Division Headquarters and sent his personal greet- 
ings and congratulations to the Marine Brigade. 
He also added that General Foch, Commander-in- 
Chief of the Allied Armies in France, especially 
charged him this morning to give the Marine Bri- 
gade his love and congratulations on their fine work 
of the past week. 

By command of Brigadier-General Harbord. 

M. Lay, Major Adjutant. 



Introduction xv 

Nor did their gallantry at Soissons go unnoticed, 
for this official order was read to the officers and 
men: 

General Orders No. 46. 

It is with keen pride that the Divisional Comman- 
der transmits to the command the congratulations 
and affectionate greetings of General Pershing, who 
visited the Divisional Headquarters last night. His 
praise of the gallant work of the Division on the 
18th and 19th is echoed by the French High Com- 
mand, the TTiird Corps Commander, American Ex- 
peditionary Forces, and in a telegram from the 
former Divisional Commander. In spite of two 
sleepless nights, long marches through rain and 
mud, and the discomfort of hunger and thirst, the 
Division attacked side by side with the gallant First 
Moroccan Division, and maintained itself with 
credit. You advanced over six miles, captured over 
three thousand prisoners, eleven batteries of artil- 
lery, over a hundred machine guns, minenwerfers, 
and supplies. The Second Division has sustained 
the best traditions of the Regular Army and the 
Marine Corps. The story of your achievements will 
be told in millions of homes in all Allied Nations 
to-night. 

J. G. Harbord 

Major-General, N.A. 
France, July 21 



xvi Introduction 

Before the Marines went into battle, as a part 
of the Second Division at Saint-Mihiel, their com- 
mander, Major-General John A. Lejeune, wrote the 
following order: 

September 11, 1918 
General Orders No. 52. 

The Second Division is again about to attack the 
enemy. I feel that we should recall the heroic ex- 
ploits of the Division on the historic battle-fields 
near Chateau Thierry and Soissons. By these vic- 
tories, the Second Division turned back the invasion 
of the Hun and immortahzed its name and the 
name of the Hun. 

The approaching battle will constitute a great 
epoch in our country's history. For the first time, 
an American Army will give battle on the soil of 
Europe under the command of an American Com- 
mander-in-Chief. The prestige and honor of our 
Country are therefore at stake. I am confident that 
our Division will maintain them proudly and that 
it will sweep the enemy from the field. 
John A. Lejeune 

Major-General U.S. M.C. 

And the Second Division fulfilled that order 
faithfully and well, with the result that General 
Lejeune added, after the battle: 



Intkoduction xvii 

17th September, 1918 
General Orders No. 54. 

I DESIRE to express to the officers and men my pro- 
found appreciation of their brilliant and successful 
attack in the recent engagement. 

Our Division maintained the prestige and honor 
of the country proudly and swept the enemy from 
the field. 

John A. Lejeune 

Major-General, U.S. M.C. 

Then came the battle for Blanc Mont Ridge, with 
its resultant victory — and following that, an order 
of praise that is treasured by every United States 
Marine: 

France, 11 October, 1918 
Officers and Men of the Second Division : 
It is beyond my power of expression to describe 
fitly my admiration for your heroism. You attacked 
magnificently and you seized Blanc Mont Ridge, 
the keystone of the arch constituting the enemy's 
main position. You advanced beyond the ridge, 
breaking the enemy's lines, and you held the ground 
gained with a tenacity which is unsurpassed in the 
annals of war. 

As a direct result of your victory, the German 
armies east and west of Rheims are in full retreat, 



xviii Introduction 

and by drawing on yourselves several German Di- 
visions from other parts of the front, you greatly 
assisted the victorious advance of the Allied Armies 
between Cambrai and St. Quentin. 

Your heroism and the heroism of our comrades 
who died on the battle-field will live in history for- 
ever, and will be emulated by the young men of our 
country for generations to come. 

To be able to say when this war is finished, "I 
belonged to the 2nd Division, I fought with it at the 
battle of Blanc Mont Ridge," will be the highest 
honor that can come to any man. 
John A. Lejeune 

Major-General, U.S. M.C. 

Commanding 

So that was the stuff of which the men who wrote 
this book were made. The past tense must be used 
for many of them — for more than one sleeps now 
in the fields of France, his rifle forming his head- 
stone, his grave smoothed by the hands of his com- 
rades. Few of the old eight thousand who formed 
the first two regiments of Marines remain alive and 
unwounded. The Fifth and Sixth Marines have 
upheld their traditions at a staggering cost, a cost, 
however, that acts only as an inspiration to the Ma- 
rines who have replaced the losses, a newer, stronger 
call to battle and the fulfillment of their Corps 
Hymn: 



Introduction xix 

" From the Halls of Montezuma 
To the shores of Tripoli 
We fight our country's battles 
On the land as on the sea." 

The Fifth and Sixth Marines were not the only- 
ones who went to France; there were replacements, 
machine-gun battalions, additional regiments. And 
this book is about them all — for it was written 
by them, written in the fire of battle, in the area of 
death, and in the calmness of the rest billet; the 
story of the United States Marine in France by 
Himself. 

Some of the writers of the letters which follow 
were killed in battle, even before their missives 
reached America. Most of the others bear the scars 
of wounds to testify to their bravery. Upon the 
breasts of more than one hangs the Distinguished 
Service Cross, awarded for extraordinary heroism 
in battle. And to record their thoughts, their ac- 
tions, their cheery messages home, their vivid yet 
modest descriptions of some of the fiercest battles 
of all history, this book has been compiled, a living 
testimony to the heroism of the men who helped 
save Paris; many of whom sleep to-day in that Wood 
of Death where they thrust back the Beast as it 
clawed at the very threshold of Civilization: the 
Bois de la Brigade des Marines. 



"Dear Folks at Home 



"DEAR FOLKS AT 
HOME " 

CHAPTER I 
IN THE PROCESS OF MAKING 

He was a United States Marine, fresh from the 
grime and grit of battle. One arm had been torn 
off, a thigh had been slashed by a shell-splinter, 
and a machine-gun bullet had ripped its way 
through his "good" shoulder. It was enough to 
kill an ordinary man, but the Marine lived. 

The reason for that fact lay far in the past, in 
his "boot" days when this United States Marine 
underwent the recruit training which fitted him 
for overseas service, training which turned his 
muscles to mobile steel, his heart to a tireless 
engine, and his whole being to a hardened, all- 
resisting piece of human mechanism that could 
fight off death to the very last second. 

"The first day I was at camp," a Marine once 
wrote to his mother, "I was afraid I was going to 
die. The next two weeks my sole fear was that I 
was n't going to die. And after that I knew I 'd 
never die because I 'd become so hard that nothing 
could kill me," 



4 Dear Folks at Home 

Indeed, such is the rigorous health that Marine 
Corps training, at Mare Island, California, and 
Paris Island, South Carolina, breeds in the body of 
a man. And just how it is done is well told in a 
jocular letter from Private Rubin Jaffe, Company 
G, Mare Island, California, to the Major who en- 
listed him at San Francisco: 

My dear Major: 

I HAVE n't completed my training yet — so I don't 
know what there is in store for me, but judging 
from past performances, I reckon that standing up 
before a machine gun and being shot at, or thrown 
from a speeding aeroplane, would be right in line. 
We ought to be puncture-proof when we get out 
of here. 

I 'm afraid you would n't recognize me now, my 
dear Major — gun-totin', rip-roarin', son-of-a-gun 
of a hard-boiled Marine that I am. Why, I have 
grown so tough that the gobs scurry to their holes 
when they hear my hobnails a-poundin' the deck. 

Here's the moving picture of a day as she is 
lived in this neck of the woods. At 6.30 a big guy 
with a little horn comes blowing around, playing a 
tune that ain't a tune at all, but which in plain 
gob-lingo means, "Hit the deck, leatherneck — 
Rise and Shine." 

You have almost brushed your bristles (you can't 
part your hair here, for they part you from it) when 



In the Process of Making 5 

they yell for roll-call. After that comes the morning 
run. This is usually pretty easy — never more 
than two or three miles. 

You are just recovering your breath at quarters 
when somebody yells "chow," and exactly three 
and one half moments later (I think a moment is 
a smaller unit of time than a second) there is n't a 
soul in sight. 

The next scene is necessarily a short one, for I 'm 
not master enough to describe a "chow-hound" in 
action. It is truly a picture no artist can paint, 
though a phonograph might be able to record a 
slight impression of the scene — especially when 
there's soup. 

After "chow" comes "Swedish" — and it sure 
must have been some disgusted Swede who thought 
of this. This 'ere "Swedish" is n't what you would 
call a knitting contest. Not exactly. It's a cross 
between contortioning, steeple jacking, and tail 
spinning and is designed to make either a Man or 
a lunatic out of you. My opinion of Swedes has 
changed considerable since my introduction to 
their method of torture. They must be born with- 
out bones. 

If you survive the "Swedish," the undertaker 
gets one more chance at you before the morning is 
over. That's out on the drill ground where you 
pack your guns around in "Squads Right" and 
"Double Time," etc. 



6 Dear Folks at Home 

There 's a funny thing about those guns when you 
are doing double time up a hill. Every step they 
gain a pound in weight, and after the first seven 
miles you begin to wonder if you could n't make 
good in the heavy artillery carrying some of the 
big guns on your shoulder, relieving a couple of 
teams of horses and a motor truck or two — mebbe ! 

No morning is complete without a "run around 
the barrel." This is an exquisite form of torture 
the drill sergeants have for a man who commits 
some grave offense like brushing a fly off his face 
while standing at attention, or turning toward the 
"chow-hall" when "left-face" is the command. 

There's a steep hill on the Island, and on that 
hill rests a barrel. "Running around the barrel" 
means doing double time around that hogshead. 
You run until you are ready to drop — and then 
you run some more. 

But after you have made the cruise is when you 
are liable to strike the shoals. The first thing the 
sergeant asks you when you come into port is how 
you liked the voyage. If you grin and say "Fine!" 
— back you go. If you look kind of world-weary 
and disgusted — back you go. So the first thing 
every good Marine does is to cultivate a bland, 
blank, blase, neutral expression so that a mind- 
reader could n't read his thoughts in regard to the 
cruise around the hogshead. 

Noon finds us in the "chow-hall," of course — 



In the Process of Making 7 

and again let me draw the curtain. It would never 
do to describe. Some civilians might accidentally 
see it and it would result in such a rush of enlist- 
ments that there would n't be a man left in civil 
life — and we have got to have some, you know. 

From 1.30 to 4.00 there is more drill — and then 
you are "free" — ^to attend to the hundred and 
one other duties that are piled on you. 

There's washing and ironing. Yep, we do it. 
They aim to make Men of us in the Marine Corps. 
(Please be sure to spell that "Men" always in 
capitals.) You would think, though, they were 
making women of us, too. The first thing a Marine 
learns after discipline is cleanliness. Always must 
be clean — and there are n't hand laundries always 
handy in No Man's Land — so he learns "how" 
himself — get me? 

Then there's semaphore and wig-wag every 
Marine is required to learn. 

Generally, in the evening, just before taps, we 
hold "bull" sessions, and, believe me, this is one 
of the most interesting events of the day. Here are 
men and boys from all over the country, from every 
occupation imaginable, who have passed through 
countless experiences — and to spend an evening 
chinning in a tent with a group of such fellows is 
certainly a treat. I thought I was broad-minded, 
but it needed bunking with some Texas cow-rider 
and drilling alongside of some Montana sheep- 



8 Dear Folks at Home 

herder or maybe a University graduate to show me 
there was lots of room for expansion. If there is 
one thing I '11 be eternally grateful to Uncle for, it 
will be for this opportunity of growth, for this 
chance of fellowship with the finest of good fellows, 
bound in one common cause. 

From the foregoing, one would strongly suspect 
that this is rather a strenuous life. It is — but at 
the same time a most fascinating one, and we all 
love it. Naturally, we are proud of our Corps, and 
I never saw a leatherneck who was n't an egotist of 
the most rabid sort over the fact that he was a 
United States Marine. 

It is glorious. Never do you hear a growl or kick. 
On the skirmish line in heavy marching order and 
in "Swedish" I have heard big men sobbing and 
crying through gritted teeth. I have done it my- 
self. But do we stop.f^ Never! Not until we drop. 
Go until you can't go another step — and then go 
some more. That is the creed of the Marines. It is 
passing through the training here that one can 
understand why the Germans call us "devil-dogs" 
— why the Marine Corps has made such a splendid 
record "over there." 

The attitude toward the men in drill is entirely 
impersonal. They are so many units capable of so 
much endurance — • which they must go the limit. 
A Marine is n't coddled if he "does n't feel right." 
Out in the line he must go — and the first thing 




THE FINISHED PRODUCT 



In the Process of Making 9 

you know, a good stiff hour's work has put him 
back on his toes again. 

I cannot express the feehng, the wonderful mo- 
rale, that comes on us as the weeks progress — the 
satisfaction that we are ready to do our damnedest 
for Uncle — ■ and every man is fit for anything 
that may come up. It is that spirit that whips us 
on — that makes such damned egotists of us over 
the fact that we are United States Marines. 

By the way. Major, I want to tell you about 
something that has helped me immensely. Disci- 
pline here is of the strictest kind and it is often 
difficult for the easy-going civilian to conform to it. 
But in my case : — you will recall that in your talk 
to us before we left, you told us that *' there was a 
reason for everything" — a, motive behind every 
order that would be issued us. I don't know why — 
but that phrase stuck in my mind — and has been 
of immeasurable aid in my adaptability to the Ma- 
rine Corps discipline. When a man sees a good rea- 
son for an order, he is generally pretty cheerful 
about obeying it. But when he does n't — then is 
when it is n't so easy. Yet they can't go into detail 
about every order and regulation here — ■ and so 
whenever something would come up I could n't see 
through, I'd say to myself, "There's a reason for 
it," and cheerfully "carry on." Invariably, time 
showed up the "reason" and necessity for the order 
or regulation. 



10 Dear Folks at Home 

I could keep on writing, Major, but you know a 
Marine does n't get very much time for writing 
letters — and I 'm surprised I got time enough to 
write this one. You can rest assured, however, that 
I '11 drop you a line whenever I can. 

I have n't been over to see Major Lowndes yet, 
but I will very soon, and then I will discuss with 
him ways and means for my going to the Officers* 
Training School. I'm really surprised to see how 
quickly I adapted myself to military life and how 
well I like it. But come what may — be I buck 
private or Major-General — ^ if I get out of this 
thing alive, my service in the United States Ma- 
rine Corps will be one of the proudest and most 
cherished memories of my life. 

Give my kindest personal regards to the boys in 
the office — and I would appreciate your letting 
Lieutenant McLauchlin see this letter. I have n't 
time to write him one personally, — and naturally 
my remarks to him would be the same as to you. 
Major, — for not only is "Mac" a regular fellow, 
but he is as proud as any leatherneck I 've ever met 
over his being in the United States Marine Corps. 

To you personally, there is always the best — o' 
course. Sincerely 

Rubin Jaffe 
Company G — Section 1 
Marine Barracks 
Mare Island, California 



CHAPTER II 
ON THE RANGE 

The United States Marines had been brought for- 
ward to the fighting hne at Chateau Thierry. 
Closer and closer the Hun came, closer — 

And then something happened! 

Something new, something the Germans had 
neither known of nor expected. Here were men who 
did not follow the rule of firing merely in the gen- 
eral direction of the enemy. Instead, there they 
lay, in wave formation, the machine-gun bullets 
whining about them, the *'hell by heavies" and 
"whizz bangs" bursting near by, yet adjusting 
their sights and aiming as calmly as though their 
game was the squirrel in the old hickory tree or the 
rabbit beside the road, back home. 

For every bullet a Hun. For every squeeze on 
the trigger, one enemy less. The percentage of 
deaths from rifle fire changed from one death in a 
hundred almost to decimation. 

Then it was that the Huns learned that they 
were facing the United States Marine who counts 
himself a poor fighter, indeed, unless he wears a 
Marksman's Medal. And the way these medals 
are won is told by Private Sheldon R. Gearhart 
of Wilkes-Bar re, Pennsylvania, writing home from 



12 Dear Folks at Home 

the recruit training camp at Paris Island, South 
CaroUna. 

Paris Island, S.C. 
We 're on the rifle range now and are having Hfe a 
Httle easier because it is quite cool here the last 
couple of days. A week ago to-day it was 132 de- 
grees in the sun. You know this island is nothing 
but sand, sand, sand. You can grit your teeth any 
time, I don't care when, and grate on it. It 's in your 
chow, on the sheets, and in your eyes. It blows and 
drifts just like snow, and it's just like snow to walk 
through — you sink in. 

We get up every morning (Sunday included, for 
we shoot on Sunday too) at 4.30 a.m., have roll-call 
at 4.45, chow at 5, and at 5.30 we shove off for the 
range. It's about one and a half miles and we get 
there about 6 o'clock. We stay until 9 a.m., then 
come back to barracks. (That's when I'm writing 
this — 10 A.M.) At 11 we have chow, go back to 
the range at 12, and stay until 4, making a seven- 
hour day. Out of those seven hours we work ten 
minutes out of every hour and sit around and talk 
or sleep the other fifty minutes. We 're not shooting 
now, just snapping in, but we begin to shoot Friday. 
These Springfield rifles kick just like a mule. When 
they go off they push you back about a foot, right 
straight along the ground. You shoot from three 
positions: prone, kneeling, and sitting. We shoot 




mr >' 



FROM THE HALLS OF MONTE-ZO-OMA 

The Marines' Hymn 



On the Range 13 

from 200, 300, 400, 500, and 600 yards. From the 
latter distance, those bull's-eyes look like pin- 
heads. Rapid fire you shoot ten shots in one minute. 
It's real exciting when you are actually shooting. 
The things sound like a cannon. They shoot a bul- 
let as long as your index finger. All rapid fire is 
done, not at a bull's-eye, but at a silhouette of a 
man's head and shoulders, the bottom of which is 
36 inches. 

The firing lines are lines from where you shoot. 
They run parallel to the targets and are about 500 
yards long. They are higher by two feet than the 
siu'rounding ground. A man is stationed to a target 
and there are 65 men (one company) on the firing 
line at once. Back of the line the main coach stands 
with a megaphone. He calls out the commands. 

Ever hear these fellows at side shows in a circus? 
That's the way this fellow yells. Here are a few of 
the commands we get: *'A11 right! All right! You 
253 company, up on the line! Get your slings 
on your arm, face half to the left and open the 
bolts! Place your right hand on the butt of your 
piece! Simulate! Load and lock! Ready on the 
right! Ready on the left! Position!" (At this com- 
mand you get whichever position from which you 
are shooting.) "Commence firing!" Bang! Bang! 
Bang ! 

The only time I ever shot a gun in my life was 
when I shot a cat down at Uncle Harry's one year. 



14 Dear Folks at Home 

Ask Aunt Myrtle if she remembers it. If I have any 
trouble with my eyes at all I expect it will be on 
the range. It's hard for me to see the targets, but 
if I can't shoot at them I'll shoot at the numbers. 
Am in the best of health; have never been sick 
a day since I've been on the island. 
Chow! 

Your brother 

Sheldon 



CHAPTER III 
THE LADY LEATHERNECKS 

Not all the informative letters about the United 
States Marines have come from fighting men. At 
least two of them were written by a new element 
in the Marine Corps, rollicking, happy letters that 
carried between the lines a deeper, greater mean- 
ing. They were the letters of a girl who had become 
a "lady leatherneck," that a real "he-man leather- 
neck," as the Marines call themselves, might take 
up his gun and march away to war. 

War found many a fighting Marine champing at 
his bit. He had been assigned to clerical or head- 
quarters duty, while his bunkies, his pals, were 
going overseas! 

Application after application piled in for transfer 
to active duty. One by one they were sorrowfully 
refused — for the officers were as anxious to get 
"over there" as the men. Then came the inspira- 
tion, the enrollment of women to take the clerical 
duties off the shoulders of the men, and allow them 
to depart for the Big Adventure. Real Marines are 
these women and girls. They enlist as the men en- 
list after passing a rigid physical and mental exam- 
mation. They wear the winter field and khaki, the 
overseas cap; they drill, salute, and have their 



16 Dear Folks at Home 

officers. Every one of them means a man released 
for fighting, and they are as proud of the traditions 
of the Corps as the men themselves. 

One of the first to be enrolled was a New York 
girl named Martha L. Wilchinski. And, her oath 
completed, she hurried to write to her sweetheart 
fighting in France: 

Dear Bill: 

I ' VE got the greatest news ! No, I have n't thrown 
you over; I'm still strong for you. Bill. No, it's no 
use; don't try to guess. You're not used to that 
much mental effort, and you might get brain-fag. 
Besides, you'd never guess, anyway. Now, listen, 
and try to get this. I know it'll be hard at first, but 
it'll grow on you after a while. Are you ready .'^ 
Well, then, — I'm a lady leatherneck; I'm the last 
word in Hun hunters; I'm a real, live, honest-to- 
goodness Marine! The process was painful, I admit, 
and lasted for thirty-six hours, but I survived it all 
right. Our future together does n't look so black to 
me now. Don't be surprised if you see me men- 
tioned for a Croix de Guerre or something. You 
know me! I'm not looking for sympathy or any- 
thing, but honest, I've been through an awful lot. 
They've done everything to me except punch my 
name out on my chest. That's coming soon, I guess. 
But I'll begin from the beginning and tell you 
everything ad seriatim. That 's Latin. It means, " Go 




GOOD-BYE 



The Lady Leathernecks 17 

to it, kid." You know I always had a kind of a 
hunch that the Marines would realize the necessity 
of women some day, so I was laying low and wait- 
ing. Well, when I heard they had at last hung out a 
sign at the recruiting station — "Women wanted 
for the United States Marine Corps" — I was 
ready. "Mother," says I, "give me your blessing, 
I'm going to be one of the first to enlist." I was 
there when the doors opened in the morning. I was 
one of the first all right — the first six hundred ! 
You'd think they were selling sugar or something. 
Well, when the crowd heard that you had to be 
willing to go anywhere as ordered and you had to 
be a cracker- jack stenog, they thinned out some. 
And from what was left the lieutenant picked out 
twelve to go over to the colonel and have him give 
us the double O. I was one of them, of course. I 'm 
not looking for applause, but you know I always 
said you could n't keep a good man down. You're 
only a corporal, Bill, so you may not know what a 
colonel is. A colonel is a man who talks to you over 
the top of his glasses and looks through you as if 
you were a piece of smoked glass. You know me, 
I'm not afraid of anything this side of sudden 
death, but during the three seconds he looked at 
me I had everything from nervous prostration to 
paralysis agitans. That's called psychological effect. 
I would n't admit it to a soul but you because it's 
scientific and will probably go over your head, any- 



18 Dear Folks at Home 

way. The colonel gave us a pretty stiff examination, 
and out of the fifteen, five lived to break the news 
to mother. You've got to admit it. Bill, it shows 
merit. He told us to report the next morning for a 
physical examination. 

That was a terrible ordeal. It took three men and 
one woman to do the job. You can't appreciate 
what I went through. Those doctors must have 
thought I was a ventriloquist or a somnambulist or 
something. I had to cough through my nose and 
breathe through my ears. I had to stand on my 
right eyebrow and wave my left foot. Maybe they 
thought I was training for the Signal Corps or 
something. I had to wiggle my ears. I got ptomaine 
poisoning; I sprained my big pto in the tussle. Then 
I had to match colors. I'm not complaining, but 
you know it's hard to keep up with colors when 
they change every season. The colors don't change, 
of course, but some smart guy wants to make it 
hard for everybody else so he calls green, chartreuse, 
and yellow, maize. Then they took my finger-prints. 
They'll know me when they see me again. The 
nurse could n't find any marks on me for purpose 
of identification. "Take a picture of my freckles, 
nurse," said I. Some kidder, eh? And, I've got a 
terrible confession to make to you. You know what 
I said, no secrets between us. They took my height 
in my stocking feet. It was n't fair; nobody had 
ever done that to me before and I told the doctor 



The Lady Leatheenecks 19 

as much. I'm a terrible shrimp, and I don't know 
whether you '11 want me when I tell you. I 'm sixty- 
two inches. Is n't it heart-breaking.? I felt as big as 
a yardstick when I heard it. But you know me, Bill, 
I 'm a sport. You can always have your ring back. 
There 's still nine installments to pay on it, anyway. 

Well, only three of us came out alive. The others 
had fallen by the wayside. Then the colonel came 
in and told us to come over and be sworn in. I'm 
going to tell you something. I 'm not bragging, but 
it is n't every private that's sworn in by a colonel. 
It was terribly impressive. Something kept sticking 
in my throat all the time. I don't know whether it 
was my heart or my liver. I had to swallow it sev- 
eral times before I could say, "I do." Then they 
took a movie of us. I'm not throwing "bokays" at 
myself, but you've got to admit it, the kid's clever! 

And then I got my orders. Travel orders they 
call them. But that's only to make it hard. The 
only traveling I have to do is to come down from 
the Bronx in the new subway, and that's not travel- 
ing, that's just plain suffering. I'm so worried 
about those orders, I sleep with them under my pil- 
low at night and wear them around my neck during 
the day. 

I got some good tips from the boys. They said if 
you want to scare the captain just click your heels 
at him. I don't remember whether they said click 
or kick; I guess they meant kick. And another 



20 Deae Folks at Home 

thing thev said. When I'm made a sergeant. I 
mustn't stand for being called "Sarge." Nothing 
doing on that **Sarge" stuff. They'll have to call 
me anything that's in the Manual. I hear some 
people are giving us nicknames. Is n't it funny the 
minute a girl becomes a regular fellow somebody 
always tries to queer it by calling her something 
else.^ There are a lot of people. Bill, that just go 
around taking the joy out of life. Well, anybody 
that calls me anything but "Marine" is going to 
hear from me. "Marine" is good enough for me. 

Bill, you never were very literary. But did you 
ever hear me speak of Kipling and what he said 
about the female of the species being more deadly 
than a triple titration of TXT.' Well, if a regiment 
of Marines can make the Germans stand on their 
bone heads and yeU "Kamerad." you can imagine 
what a regiment of female Marines would do.^ Why, 
those plop-eyed, yellow-skinned bounders would 
run so fast and furious they 'd never stop for second 
wind until they reached Berlin. 

I never received that German helmet. Are you 
sure you got the fellow. Bill? 

I can't sign myself as affectionately as I used to. 
Bill. You understand. I'm a soldier now and you 
would n't want me doing anything that was n't 
in the ManuaL 

Yours till the cows come home, 

PVT. MaETHA L. WrLCHINSKI. M.C.B. 



The Lady Leathernecks 21 

Time went on. Private Wilchinski learned to do 
"squads right," to salute at the proper angle, and 
what she never believed she 'd ever be forced to do 
— "police." But Private Wilchinski learned that 
"police duty" in the military sense is vastly differ- 
ent from the civil. Even the fact that the colonel 
"who looked over his glasses" had handed her a 
corporal's warrant, could n't fully efface memory 
of that "police work." And again she wrote Bill: 

New York, September 23, 1918 
Dear Bill: 

Well, Bill, here I am again. I've been waiting for 
a chance to write you, but you'd never believe me 
if I told you I 've been so busy sweeping floors and 
picking up cigarette butts and washing windows 
and ever^^thing, I have n't had a chance. That 's a 
fine occupation for a Marine! Believe me, if I had 
known what I was enlisting for — ! \Miat '11 I say 
to my grandchildren, Bill.^ TMien they ask me: 
""VMiat did you do in the Great War, Grandma.^" 
I'll have to say: "Washing windows on the second 
floor." That's a fine thing to have written on your 
tombstone, is n't it ! 

It's these everlasting inspections. Bill. There's 
only one thing the matter with them — they never 
come off! That is how I have it doped out, BiU. 
They want to save janitor's wages, so an order 
comes around that the general or somebody is com- 



22 Dear Folks at Home 

ing for inspection. Then everybody gets busy and 
starts scrubbing and bumping into each other and 
stepping on each other's feet and everything. And 
just because I 'm low in rank I have to do most of 
the work. The captain comes in and says; "Here's 
where you ought to shine!" "I am shining, Cap- 
tain," I says; "I'm shining everything in sight." So 
he takes a chair and puts it on the table and stands 
on it and runs his finger along the ceiling. Then he 
shows it to me, and it has a speck of dust on it, and 
he looks at me like I broke his heart. So I climb up 
after him and I 'm so nervous, I fall down and break 
the chair and scratch the table and dislocate my 
adenoids. 

But that is n't all, Bill. I don't want to get court- 
martialed or anything by the general — not until 
pay-day, anyway — so I wash my face and go out 
and get a shine and everything. And the general 
never came that day at all, and the next day it 
rained and spoiled my shine and I had to get an- 
other one. I tell you. Bill, this life is wearing me 
out to a whisper. I 'm getting so thin I had to take 
another hole in my wrist watch. 

You remember I told you last time that a 
"movie" man took a picture of me being sworn in. 
He said it was going to show the week after. Well, 
Bill, I went to the movies steady every night for 
three weeks and spent $2.13 on myself and that 
fellow Pete, who lives next door to us; he's got a 



The Lady Leathernecks 23 

B classification — he '11 be here when they go and 
be here when they come back. And all I got out 
of it was Spanish influenza and a pain in the ear 
on the side where Pete was snoring all the time, 
and I'm out $2.13, and all the lunch I can live 
on for a month now is a glass of milk and a short 
walk. 

My cousin Sadie has been coming in and bragging 
for a week about her friend's being gassed and 
wounded and decorated and everything. I know 
her friend all right. The only way he 'd ever get on 
the casualty list is by starving to death on account 
of sleeping all day and not having to get up for 
meals. And the only decorations he'd ever get are 
a couple of black eyes. Well, I was mighty pleased 
when I saw your name in the papers, Bill. That 
Sadie has n't got a thing on me now. 

I hope they did n't have to give you ether. Bill. 
I hear the fellows do terrible things when they come 
out of ether. I heard of a fellow who made love to 
the nurse. I bet he tried to hold her hand and every- 
thing. I get a lot of inside dope about the war, Bill; 
that's how I happened to hear about this. You 
want to be careful about those French girls, Bill. 
They're terribly rough. I hear you can't take a 
peaceful walk by yourself without having one of 
them drape herself around your oesophagus and 
getting closer to you than your landlady on pay- 
day. I 'm sending you a book on biology. It 's called 



24 Dear Folks at Home 

"How to Tell the Wild Women." You ought never 
to go to Paris without it. 

I have some very difficult situations to handle 
sometimes, Bill. For instance: The other day the 
lieutenant and I were waiting to go down in the 
elevator. Now, here's the question. If I am a lady 
and he 's a gentleman, I go in first. If he 's an officer 
and I 'm a corporal, he goes in first. It all depends 
on how you look at it. I did n't know how he 'd 
take it, so I thought I 'd wait and see what he 'd do. 
I guess he thought the same thing. So we both 
stood there eyeing each other up on the right 
oblique. Then he stepped forward and I stepped 
back. Then he stepped back and I stepped forward. 
Then we both stepped back. I was getting pretty 
dizzy by that time. I guess he was too. Then we 
both squeezed in at the same time. I guess that's 
what they mean by military tactics. 

Well, I've got to stop now and start in picking 
up cigarette butts again. They're smoking them 
very short this year. I tell you. Bill, if I ever get 
out of this alive and have a home of my own, 
there '11 be no cigarettes in my house. Not that I 'm 
throwing out any hints. I thought you'd just like 
to know, that's all. 

Your comrade in arms 

Corporal Martha 



CHAPTER IV 
"THIS VALE OF MUD AND TEARS" 

Few letters from the front have been more pictorial 
than the ones written by Major Robert L. Denig, 
of the Marines, to his wife. In later chapters, others 
shall appear, giving their graphic descriptions of 
battle and of loneliness, each containing an ar- 
tistry, a beauty of touch and detail that is seldom 
found in a fighting man. 

The ones which immediately follow were written 
before he had gone into battle, and are descriptive 
of an American officer's life on the Western Front, 
preparatory to taking his active part in guiding 
troops to battle. 

In most of the letters which follow. Major Denig 
was *'at school" learning all the fine points that 
the French had gained in the bitter years of their 
experience, that he might avail himself of every op- 
portunity to know the means of defeating the Boche 
when the great test came. 

And that Major Denig learned his lesson well is 
indicated by the following recommendation issued 
to him at the time he was transferred from the 
Third Division to his own beloved Fourth Brigade 
of United States Marines: 



26 Dear Folks at Home 

Headquarters Thirtieth Infantry 
American E.F., France 
7 July, 18 
From: Commanding Officer, 30th Infantry. 
To: Commanding General, 3rd Division (Red). 
Subject: Major Robert L. Denig. 

1. Major Robert L. Denig has been with this or- 
ganization for over two months, one month of this 
time being spent in the front Hne. 

2. During this entire period Major Denig showed 
the greatest efficiency as an officer, keeping always 
on the alert and improving every opportunity to 
strengthen his command. His ability as a com- 
mander and an instructor has impressed me very 
favorably. 

3. I hereby recommend that this be forwarded 
to the Marine Corps. 

E. L. Butts 
Colonel, 30th Infantry Commanding 

H^dq., 3rd Division 
A.E.F., July 8, 1918 
Major Robert L. Denig : 

The Commanding General directs me to inform 
you that he concurs in the foregoing statement of 
Col. Butts, commanding the 30th Infantry, and 
wishes to express to you his appreciation of your 
services while serving with the 3rd Division. 
(Sd) David L. Stone 

Colonel, A.D.C., G 1 



This Yale of Mud and Tears 27 

Therefore, the following letters go far to disprove 
the old theory that the fighting man must be blunt, 
cold-blooded, and brusque. For in Major Denig's 
letters are found the deepest, sincerest sympathy, 
and a kindly spirit far removed from the old idea 
of the frigid, thoroughly unresponsive warrior. 

France, Nov. 30, 1917. Friday 
Last Saturday Hunt, Metcalf, and myself were 
ordered up to this hole, to take five weeks' course 
in the First Corps School. I am in the field officers' 
course, which includes visits to the front-line 
trenches. 

Well, to go back and start over, I was in the big 
city of Bordeaux when the orders came, so Hunt 
packed up for me, and Baston in a side car looked 
me up. He found me, of course, at a little round 
table at the Cafe Bordeaux. I then bought a couple 
of extra blankets, brought them back to camp, 
gathered in the party, and left with them and our 
baggage for the gare du Midi. We had dinner in 
the station, bought some papers, and boarded the 
train at 10.20. We had a hard time getting seats, but 
finally got settled, with Hunt in a different com- 
partment. He had to fight garlic fumes all night. I 
had a good seat and pleasant companions. It was a 
cold night and rainy. We passed through Tours. 

We arrived in Paris at the Quai d'Orsay at 9 
A.M. and after a scramble for our baggage we 



28 Dear Folks at Home 

started across town in a bus pulled by an old horse 
driven by an old man. I was the guide and pointed 
out the sights. We crossed the Seine, drove through 
the Tuileries, crossed the rue de Rivoli, where the 
gold statue to Jeanne d'Arc stands up the avenue 
de rOpera and passed the other famous ones and 
got out at the gare de I'Est, where we rechecked our 
baggage and bought a ticket for this twentieth- 
century Valley Forge. Hunt and I got a hot bath 
and I a shave. You can only get hot water in Paris 
on Saturday and Sunday. 

At noon we pulled out. The station was full of 
soldiers and oflficers going back to the front. Women 
must say good-bye away from the station, and I 
saw many weeping on the far side of the square as 
I came up. 

The train was full of Americans, as it runs to 
Nancy, the end of our front. We came up the Marne 
through Bar-le-Duc, at which place the Germans 
delight in dropping bombs. I saw many anti-air- 
craft guns about there. We passed within ten 
miles of Rheims, and from there on, many soldiers' 
graves, but the country is full of live ones. We got 
here at 6.00 p.m. and walked out to camp in the 
rain and mud. After reporting, we were assigned 
billets in an old leaky French barracks. The whole 
floor is muddy and in one place the mud is six 
inches deep. You can take a stick and shove it in 
the ground two feet without half trying. 



This Yale of Mud and Tears 29 

Our baggage was dumped at the foot of the hill 
in the mud and we had to lug it up ourselves. There 
are sixty of us in this shack. I am Senior. Uncle Sam 
allows us three candles per day for all of us. Twenty 
men to one candle. Water is scarce; you get it when 
you can out of a wagon. The drinking-water is 
treated with chemical and makes you sick to drink 
it. Hot water can't be had. To take a bath you 
stand on your trunk and have some one swab you 
down in ice-cold water. I did not bring mine. We 
have two stoves, real small, and for them we get 
one hundred and twenty pounds of wet wood. The 
daily allowance could be put in a steamer trunk. We 
steal all the wood we can. I got a flagpole and a lad- 
der which were at once " camouflaged " with an axe. 

The mess is good. The 15th Company, my old 
one, does the cooking and they look out for me. 
It costs five francs per day, but that is the only ex- 
pense here, outside of the wear and tear on your 
clothes. Mine are a wreck. I am mud from head to 
toes, feet always wet in spite of hip boots. The 
woolen socks are fine. I usually have on three pairs, 
as the snow and mud cover everything and every 
one. Mud on the Western Front is no joke, it can't 
be described; it is thick and sticky, and when it 
dries on you it is as hard as a brick. My overcoat 
will stand alone. 

About the camp are narrow walks of wood about 
a foot wide. They are slippery and hard to keep on. 



30 Dear Folks at Home 

Officially they are known as "duck walks." If you 
meet any one, one has to get off in the mud and it 
is always deep there. The one person I pity here, 
outside of myself, is the poor sentry who walks 
about on them looking up in the air all the time for 
German planes. I have not seen the sun for ten days 
or more. No wonder the Kaiser is fighting for a place 
in the sun! But what we can't understand is why he 
wants all this mud; they ought to give it to him. 

Well, this war is still going on. The sound of the 
guns is with us all the time. Two nights ago the 
bombardment from midnight to daylight was ter- 
rific. Just as dawn broke all guns stopped at once, 
and you knew that they were "over the top, with 
the best of luck, and give 'em hell." Troop trains 
pass all the time and hospital trains are coming 
back. I counted sixty-three cars in one train with 
red crosses on them. 

Our losses have been about 1000, so far, but you 
would not know it here. I suppose you have the lists 
at home. We do not get them till the mail comes 
from the States. The first raid the Germans made 
was on our first night about an hour after we got in 
the trenches. The Germans all spoke English; they 
were tipped off by a spy. None of our dead were 
shot: they had their necks cut, which will be their 
approved method of treating us. The Scotch, called 
by the Germans, "Ladies of Hell," they mutilate; 
Canadians, they crucify; and so it goes. 




yV(;^Af^ ;as-/vj>#jr- 



' if you meet any one, one has to get off in the 

mud" 



This Yale of Mud and Tears 31 

At present I am studying Stokes Mortars, a fine lit- 
tle gun for short-range work, from 100 to 800 yards. 
It shoots a shell containing two and a half pounds 
of high explosive. The gun costs only $80 and the 
shell $3. You can train the gun crews in two weeks. 
The danger zone of the burst has a 400-yard radius. 
I was nearly hit yesterday by a piece of a shell, 
though I was 500 yards from the burst. The piece 
landed in the ground about 10 feet from me. We 
heard it coming, and I was watching the rest run, 
lie down, etc. The next time I will do the same. 
One officer dove in a trench, landed on his head, and 
was brought out senseless, more scared than hurt, 
I think. 

We go to lectures and walk over a mile to our 
work, over a high field of mud. There is more coun- 
try here than at home. The people live in villages 
miles apart. The country is high rolling hills and 
looks like the Dakotas. From the hill back of the 
camp you can see for miles. The town is about 2000 
in population, and all the people are learning Eng- 
lish, so it is easy to get on. I use French all the 
time. The crowd in our shack is O.K., most of last 
year's West Point class, all captains. I am the dean 
in age, length of service, and rank. We had a bridge 
game last night, in which I won the wood from the 
other end — high stakes — so the other end has to 
go cold for a day. 

It is four o'clock now and dark. I am trying to 



32 Dear Folks at Home 

write this on a trunk locker, near the stove, with a 
candle stuck in a bottle. 

The day begins at 6.30 a.m. and ends at 9.00 p.m. 
The instructors are English and they are good. 
Yesterday was Thanksgiving and a holiday. We 
had a big dinner. I did all my washing and cleaned 
my gear, and wished I were home. Some cheerful 
guy reminded us of the empty chairs at home, and 
of the fact that some of us would never go home 
again. Be that as it may, I will. Bordeaux looks 
good to me. After seeing this mud and discomfort 
you can understand the pictures of the Vie Pa- 
risienne. Any man who goes through months of 
this is entitled to all the fun he can find. It is hell, 
and what it is in the first line I will find out in a few 
weeks. 

December 1, 1917 
More rain, therefore, much more mud; but we like 
it now. It is just one week since we left the big city. 
Hunt and I are homesick for the place, and we 
figure on giving ourselves one big fine party when 
we get back. I got a hot bath to-day in the staff 
bathhouse. A few francs to the soldiers running it 
did the job. Got an awful shock to-day, as Bobbie 
Adams says. I am due here for seven weeks, five 
here and two in the trenches. Christmas and New 
Year's in this advanced zone does not seem alluring, 
when Bordeaux offers so many attractions and com- 



This Yale of Mud and Tears 33 

forts. We have invented a new dance called the 
"Duck Walk." The favorite song in this shack is, 
"My girl is a Lulu, every inch a Lulu, Lulu, that 
old girl of mine." 

A black-and-white cat has taken his or her home 
with me, and has occupied my blankets, which, by 
the way, as I sleep in my shoes, are quite dirty. 
I have not the nerve to kick the cat out, as its 
home and owners are gone and it is, no doubt, 
lonely like me. 

December 2, 1917 
Snow again to-day and cold as can be. Last night 
it rained and I had a leak on my head and one on 
my feet. But I got well under the canvas of the 
bedding roll and got through the long, cold night. 
If I ever get back to Bordeaux I will give myself 
one swell party and get this mud and wet out of my 
system. The song of hate has started for the night, 
and those in the trenches can have my share to- 
night. Here we are huddled about the stove with 
wet feet having a song and gab-fest. Metcalf is sick 
with the grippe. His cot is astride a puddle, but he 
will be O.K. soon. I have invested in one of the 
peaked hats with four stripes, Major, to wear in- 
side. They are great. 

December 3, 1917 
Cold, clear day, a miracle for France, as the sun 
shines. The hills are covered with snow, the mud is 



34 Dear Folks at Home 

nearly frozen underfoot, so I put it down as some 
day. My feet are dry, and I got along without an 
overcoat. My overcoat is a wreck. 

We started our second week to-day. In the morn- 
ing we studied German grenades. In the afternoon 
we had trench raids, and Stokes Mortars firing. 
The phosphorus bombs are the worst, to my mind, 
as the stuff flies all over if it hits you and it burns 
right through your clothes; you can't put it out. 
Then there was the " thermos " bomb that burns 
at a heat of 3000 degrees, burns through steel. I 
also watched a gas attack of chlorine gas. General 
Pershing and Colonel House come to-morrow. Got 
three letters from you to-day that I answered. 

December 4, 1917 
Another fine day. This morning taken up with a 
machine-gun lecture. The statement was made 
that we must win for many reasons, one so that our 
women would not be used to scientifically propa- 
gate the race, as is now done in Germany. 

This afternoon General Pershing, Colonel House 
and wife. General Bliss, Admiral Benson, and a 
numerous party visited this great University. They 
came from Paris in autos. Our various classes gave 
exhibitions; first bayonet and musketry, then hand 
grenades, rifle grenades, trench mortars, trench 
raids, artillery firing, aviation, and many minor 
stunts. The Boche joined in with a heavy bombard- 



This Vale of Mud and Tears 35 

ment of the front lines, but the wind was wrong for 
much noise from them. 

December 5, 1917 
Machine-gun lectures this morning and in the 
afternoon lectures on shipping. Two English officers 
spoke and they were very interesting. They give 
the devil his due; as a fighter they have no adverse 
remarks to give the Boche. In training you must 
make your men bloodthirsty in every way you 
can. The targets are German heads; German pris- 
oners are used to aim on. Songs of hate are sung 
by the troops. A bull's-eye is called a Kaiser, an 
inner a Crown Prince, an outer a Von Tirpitz, 
etc. Bullets are red to represent blood on the bullet 
(B.B.), etc. 

It is very cold; ice in the billets every day. My 
hands are black with dirt and I can't get it out. 

December 6, 1917 
Why 1917 I don't know, except that it is so near 
1918. Another fine day but thawing. I hope it 
stops, as I would rather freeze than mire. To-day 
we put in our time in engineering stunts. The string- 
ing of barbed wire is a science in itself. Have not 
moved into the Swiss Hut yet, as this bunch is too 
care-free and likes to sit around the fire and bull 
too much for me to want to leave. 

Last night we had another fine bombardment for 
some six hours, and a big Zep flew high overhead. 



36 Dear Folks at Home 

December 7, 1917 
Attended machine-gun lectures all day and also 
fired on the range with a pistol and with a captured 
German gun, the latter in order to be able to load 
and fire it, and also to know how to put it out of 
commission in the quickest time, if you are unable 
to take it off. To-night we had a trench raid with 
a Stokes Mortar barrage. The finest part is the star 
shells; they light up the surrounding ground for at 
least a half-mile with a bright white light. Then 
there are the various-colored rockets used as sig- 
nals as to how the attack goes. 

December 8 — Sunday 
To-morrow we go to watch some attack manoeuvres 
by the Second Division on some trenches near here. 
It will be an all-day job. Next Friday I am going to 
Paris. It looks now as if I would spend Xmas in the 
trenches, as the week before Xmas I take a three- 
day finishing-up course in gas. The roads are full of 
ambulances, etc., en route to Italy. 

So we declared war on Austria! It caused about 
as much comment here as taps. 

December 10 — Monday 
Spent all day watching the First Division attack 
the Washington Centre of Resistance. A heavy fire 
was put down on the Berlin Trenches; the guns 
firing were two miles off, and the remarkable part 



This Yale of Mud and Tears 37 

was that all shells hit in a hundred feet or on the 
trenches. We had also a gas attack and I sat in a 
shell-hole a half -hour and nearly suffocated. 

December 19, 1917 — Wednesday 
I WENT to Paris on the 14th with Hunt, and we 
returned on the 16th to this vale of dirt and tears. 
Some one suggested that they send our hut home 
as an exhibit and we stay in it. Under those cir- 
cumstances you could not drive us out. We talk the 
war over at times, especially when it is time to go 
to sleep. We all agree that the next time we will be 
too old and know too much to be let in on another 
secret like this. Why, the blooming scrap has just 
begun. 

Bordeaux for mine. I have friends there now 
both high and low, and life is pleasant in that city 
of wine, women, and war babies. Be that as it may, 
I am here now and to-morrow night will be in 
Houdelaincourt, and the good Lord only knows 
where after that, as I will be in the saddle till Xmas 
Eve, with a toothbrush for baggage. After that per- 
haps somewhere else, but Bordeaux or bust by the 
31st. 

One of the lieutenants here in taking instruc- 
tions in gas got rattled. He is in the hospital now, 
blind, sick, and out of luck generally. It is all in 
the game. 



38 Dear Folks at Home 

December 22, 1917 
My billet is now in Houdelaincourt, a place not far 
from this vale of mud and tears. I was ordered out 
with the First Division and was attached to the 
Third Battalion of the Eighteenth Infantry. After 
packing my bedding roll, etc., I motored over and 
was assigned the above billet at 62 rue le Grand. 
It was a big square room with two feather beds 
built in the wall; they were real ones, the kind, as 
I have remarked before, that you live in. It was 
all smoked oak; the beams overhead were crooked 
and rough, the open hearth had a real fire, and I sat 
in front of it with the old man who owned the house 
and talked for several hours. His wife had just died 
and he was lonely. He told me that the village of 
800 people had 50 killed, 80 wounded, and 18 pris- 
oners. He brought in three little boys, from seven 
to two, whose father had been a prisoner for two 
years, and whose mother had died; they are all 
alone. You can picture them as well as I can de- 
scribe them. 

There are no young men left in the place. Wood 
has gone from eight to thirty francs a cord, and he 
can get no oil and cannot afford candles. The result 
is, the village is dark at 6 p.m. I was in bed at 8. 

Well, I got up the next morning, of course, in 
spite of the feather bed; had breakfast, then 
mounted my horse which the orderly had brought, 
and set forth to find my outfit. It was the finest 



This Vale of Mud and Tears 39 

winter morning I have ever seen. Everything was 
an inch white in hoar frost. My road went fifteen 
miles through a forest and every twig was white; 
it looked like lace. I caught up with the outfit 
about ten and we marched and did stunts till three, 
when I got ordered back here. The ride back was 
just the same, as it was freezing all day and the 
foothills of the Vosges are not warm. 

To-morrow I go to the French Front at Soissons, 
my helmet and gas masks are ready, so this Xmas 
I will be in the trenches. 

I will give this to Hunt to mail, as he might get 
back to Bordeaux before me. Anyway, he does not 
go to the front, and I might get that stray shot. 
There is not much doing there, though we hear 
there might be. I am only an observer, so will look 
out for No. 1. 

Christmas Night, 1917 
La Huhe in the Bois Beau Marias near 
Cordonne Chemin des Dames 
The above is full direction of how to find me to- 
night, but perhaps the Germans might object, as 
the Crown Prince is opposite. I am now forty feet 
under ground in a cute little room of a big dugout. 
I have a bed, old furniture, and am warm, though it 
is snowing above. We have to learn a lot about that 
end of the game. The walls have white paper and 
are covered with pictures out of the Vie Par., which 



40 Dear Folks at Home 

make life worth living. Then I have a telephone; 
how is that for comfort? Also an orderly who is on 
the job at all times. Your and the children's pictures 
are on the wall, so you have been to the front too. 

The burns on the paper are due to drying the ink 
in a candle flame. This abri or dugout is in the side 
of the plateau of Craonne, the Chemin des Dames 
is above, the papers at present call it California. 
The woods are all shot to pieces; not a whole tree 
left. To-night we got a shelling, but dinner, and 
afterward bridge, went on without remark, so I 
could say nothing, and I guess it would not have 
helped much. 

To go back, I left Montigny at nine this morning 
and by auto came here, stopping to see a kite bal- 
loon hidden in some woods ; they got ready to take 
me up, but the wind rose and prevented it. But I 
saw the working of the whole affair. Then to a divi- 
sion headquarters at the Chateau Rancy. It was all 
shot to pieces; a few rooms had been fixed up to 
house the staff. The village at the foot of the hill 
on which was the chateau is in even worse condi- 
tion. I saw only a few old men with canes and some 
servants. From there through Concevreux and 
Maizy to where I had Christmas dinner at noon 
with the staff of this division, menu enclosed. They 
were quartered in a fine old house, the property of 
an author belonging to the Academy. It was jolly. 

After dinner to Craonnelle, and here. The road 



This Yale of Mud and Tears 41 

all the way was camouflaged with canvas, burlap, 
and trees. You have no idea how much stage set- 
ting is done to hide movements — miles and miles 
of it. 

The guns go all the time. Machine guns rattle 
every time some one shows a head. Now it is dark 
and trenches are being dug, for the hold on this 
place is not yet secure. 

To-morrow and the next day I will live on the 
front line, when we will be separated by one hun- 
dred yards. On Friday (this is Tuesday) I will go 
to Craonne, where the colonel commanding will 
show me how Chemin des Dames and Craonne were 
taken. 

I came here by Chateau Thierry and Soissons. 
It is on the Aisne. I go back via Rheims and Eper- 
nay. So I will have had some trip. 

This has been with it all a lonely Xmas, though 
unique in the extreme. 

La Hutte, France, 

December 28, 1917 
It is hard to know where to begin this letter as I 
have had such a fine time. The front is "some 
place"; that is, the real front on a tour such as 
mine. 

On the morning of the 26th we left here at six, a 
Lieutenant Martin (French, who speaks fine Eng- 
lish), another oflicer, and Major EUiott, U.S.A., and 



42 Dear Folks at Home 

I went to the post of command of a battalion hold- 
ing a part of the front line. There we lived in an old 
German dugout, of which I have written to you. 

That same night I went to one of the outposts, 
listening post. The company holding that sector 
had dug thirty feet under the ground; the men were 
sleeping on the steps, but seemed well off at that. 
At this point, though they had been there six weeks, 
the trenches were shallow and they had not been 
able to put out any wire, due to the Germans, who 
do not hesitate to shoot at the slightest movement. 
So we crawled out a shallow old German trench 
caved in by shell fire, to a point blocked by sand- 
bags and old snarled wire. 

It was a moonlight night, so I could see No Man's 
Land well, just to the German trenches at this 
point one hundred yards off. In front of us in the 
same trench the Germans had an outpost not forty 
yards distant. That is as near as I got. Both sides 
just keep their ears open for the slightest noise. 
If it gets dark both sides send out patrols to control 
the narrow strip; hence the numerous small fights 
you read about. Four days ago the Boche raided 
the part I was in and killed four, wounded seven, 
captured one officer, two N.C.O.'s, and five men. 

After I had seen that all was well we crawled 
back and returned to the dugout. We had not much 
more than arrived when an order came to be on the 
"alert," as the listening machine had picked up a 



This Vale of Mud and Teaes 43 

German message to attack our sector between eight 
and ten, but no date was given; so all went to their 
station and I to bed. Got up at 5.30 and got a place 
where I could peek over, and waited. At eight sharp 
five big two hundred and fifty pound bombs sailed 
high in the air and lit on the outpost of last night; 
then quiet. The critical hour of ten passed and no 
attack, so I went below. 

At one a shell burst on the door, so we went to 
look. By two, fifty-six shells had burst, by my 
count, within one hundred yards of us. It is great; 
the sporting element comes right up, if you have 
any, and you get real interested. This is how it 

sounds: — Boom Whir-er-er-er-er-er- 

Bangl and dirt, stones, dust, and snow fill the air. 
If you are out, — which, if you have no duty to do, 
is foolish, I admit, — you keep to the enemy's side 
of the trench and trust to luck. The men are so 
scattered and the trenches so deep that there is 
slight danger. Not a soul was hit. But it is some 
sport. My side partner did not care for it, so I got 
all the attention. The men gave me candy and cig- 
arettes and I had a real drawing-room affair. 

We then had to leave; we walked back here 
through the trenches via Ville-aux-Bois ; not a wall 
above two feet high; it was built on the side of a hill. 
The Germans had tunnels in the hill and a railroad, 
miles of electric cables, concrete, steel rails, dug- 
outs, etc. You have to see it to believe it. 



44 Dear Folks at Home 

On through Pontavert, shot to pieces, but the 
walls still standing, which, as you see the fireplaces, 
makes a greater impression; then back here. A fine 
dinner, a game of bridge, in which I won twenty- 
centimes (four cents), and to bed. The guns went all 
night and the machine guns rattled. Oh! I forgot 
an important point. I fired my first shot on land at 
the German lines, a one-pounder. I fired twice on a 
stretch of road. They do so to harass the enemy. I 
did not hit any one. The two brass shell cases I have 
as mementoes. 

This morning we went to Craonne and the Che- 
min des Dames. Craonne is like the "Rock," the 
sides and top of which are one mass of shell-holes. 
The town is swept away, just a brick or a rock now 
and then. The French are digging in. The Germans 
had miles of concrete tunnels in it; wire, shells, old 
clothes, helmets, grenades, equipment, strew the 
entire place, by that I mean miles. Three hundred 
thousand men it cost. Three years and an advance 
of less than a mile. 

The Germans have the valley below and higher 
land beyond ; they are dug in. The French are dig- 
ging in. We crossed to the top, and there I saw my 
first dead men, frozen in various positions. 

We tried to go down to the plain. The trench 
was in plain view of the Germans in places. When 
we would come to such a place, one after the 
other would run for it, to the next turn. I was third. 



This Vale of Mud and Tears 45 

The German would watch, let the other two go, get 
a line, and ping-gip! The bullets for me, and they 
did not go far off either. We beat it back. This time 
I was in the lead, so number three got it. We made 
the top and got to an observation post, but the 
damage was done. Their guns opened up and we 
had shrapnel for a half -hour; and they can shoot, 
don't forget it. Every burst about fifteen feet up, 
they carried the whole hilltop. We sat down and 
waited. Later our guns opened up in reply, and so 
the games go on. 

If you stick your head up thirty seconds it is a 
safe bet you will get a message from the Kaiser. One 
trench took us through a graveyard, or what is left 
of it. A broken stone on which I could only make 
out "Marguerite"; her coffin was cut through and 
stuffed with sandbags. The German sandbags are 
made of paper, and are remarkably strong; they 
look like cloth. 

Then, to the P.C. du Colonel, where we had a big 
dinner. The cake beautifully made was Craonne. 
The baker lives there, but he cannot now put his 
finger on where his house stood, the whole place 
being so torn up. For guests, a regimental custom 
was observed. The cooks, orderlies, and waiters 
come in and recite a piece welcoming the guests, 
then they announce the menu. After each item you 
bring your glass down with a bang. They wind up 
by wishing you a good appetite. They almost 



46 Dear Folks at Home 

shout it all. Needless to say, it starts things going. 
You then toast them and the party is on. 

After dinner, the front line, where I was yes- 
terday, got a heavy shelling. We could see it from 
the hill. A day rocket went up from there and thirty 
seconds later a wall of bursting shells fell between 
there and the German trenches in No Man's Land. 
It lasted several minutes, a barrage a fly could not 
go through, and all coming from five miles back of 
us. You ask for a barrage and a few seconds later 
you have it. It is all a machine that works like a 
clock on both sides. 

The fact that we came for a week to learn is 
amusing to the French. They had prepared to keep 
us a month. As it is, I am only a sight-seeing tour- 
ist, dined at every turn. They can't do enough for 
you. 

We returned via Craonnelle, again all shot to 
pieces. The ruin wrought cannot be described; it is 
just a country swept clean. The land a mass of 
shell-holes, every tree killed, all houses down, and 
this from the English Channel to Switzerland and 
at least fifty miles wide. I passed a six-inch battery, 
each gun with over a hundred rounds, a day's sup- 
ply; and there are thousands and thousands on 
each side. 

To-morrow I go back. 

Yours 

Rob 



This Vale of Mud and Tears 47 

Oh, yes, rat-hunting in the trenches is some 
sport. They run down and every one tries to 
jump on them. I got a couple. The rats are worse 
than the Boches. 



CHAPTER V 
QUIET DAYS 

Not all of the life of a United States Marine in 
France has been confined to fighting. It is true, 
that since the dark days in Belleau Wood, near 
Chateau Thierry, when the Marines threw back the 
Hun, there have been many calls for the "leather- 
necks" to act as the shock troops on the "jump- 
off" of an offensive. But before that time there 
were comparatively quiet days, in which the ob- 
serving Marine studied his surroundings and wrote 
home after the fashion of the following letter: 

Dear Old France, May 18, 1918 
My dear Raymond : 

Since writing last I have been transferred. My am- 
bulance company went to the country, — no, I 
mean to the front, — but that is the spirit over here. 
The men are wild to throw a hand grenade or bounce 
a rifle ball off of a Hun's helmet. I am now the ad- 
jutant to the commanding officer. Camp Hospital 
26, a bigger job and a harder one and considered 
an honor by most of them. Anyway, it is a peg 
up the ladder and that 's what we all want. Make 
good, in other words. We have 500 beds and more 
coming. Have over 15 officers and 130 men in the 



Quiet Days 49 

command. Hospital filled all the time. Lots of 
excitement. All kinds of cases and lots of surgery. 
The country here is beautiful and the weather 
here is better still. Lots of trees and grapevines are 
showing life. Flowers, etc. The roads are old and 
like pavements. The towns, of course, are old and 
the people away behind the times. Carts are two- 
wheeled, never four. Every day you see lots of old 
Frenchies coming along the road with two to six 
big casks of red or white wine aboard. He generally 
has enough cognac aboard to steer his old Dobbin 
in front of your car. At that he is highly respected 
among the Yanks, as they have occasion at times 
to spend a few francs occasionally with him. With 
five francs ($1) he can go to his billet in search of the 
Kaiser. Most all of us are beginning to be able to 
talk French. Opportunities are good to learn when 
you are quartered in billets. Billets are either homes, 
barns, lofts, etc. No men are quartered in tents. 
Officers draw real rooms. Swell beds of feathers, but 
minus the bird. Fireplace and all conveniences ex- 
cept baths, running water, etc. The enlisted men 
have ticks furnished them with straw, and with 
their own blankets, form a very comfortable bed. 
They are in attics, lofts, sheds, caves, etc. Dry and 
protected. Our quarters at the present are in the 
hospital, but I am talking of the army. Our men in 
France are well taken care of. They eat well. Ev- 
ery thing except fresh vegetables comes from the 



60 Dear Folks at Home 

States; from canned salmon in Alaska to Borden's 
milk in New York. We are on white bread and have 
sugar. Fresh beef from the States (frozen), onions 
from Ireland, oranges from Spain and Portugal. We 
are well fed and taken care of. You in the States 
are making the sacrifices; you are Hooverizing to 
make an army that will be invincible. 

Raymond, you have not got the true conception 
of what we have here. No one over there has unless 
he has been here. They who are new are being 
whipped into the best of shape. They are hard, 
healthy, and strong. They know well what they are 
here for. There will be no mercy shown. The cun- 
ning of the American has never been equaled. We 
see it every day. He only falls once for the same 
game. He knows what his forefathers fought for and 
he will do credit to the country that has staked her 
all that the principles for which we fight will not 
perish. Ray, you will say I've got the bug, but if 
you were here you'd have the fever, for we're not 
coming back till it's over over here. We'd all like 
to get back in time to vote for Van Alstine for Pres- 
ident and Hughes for Vice-President, but we have 
our doubts. 

I look for Germany to make another big offensive, 
a real one, and then her finish. She cannot keep her 
people satisfied with the loss of blood. She is be- 
coming worried at the constant hordes of Yanks 
getting over. Our supplies are coming more and 



Quiet Days 51 

more in spite of her submarine warfare which is 
proving a joke, for our destroyers have put the 
fear of God in them. I am confident that this sum- 
mer will see the beginning of the end. Let's hope 
so, but we will never beg, for we are good sports and 
can sure give them hell. In this game it 's figuring 
how you can kill the slickest without being detected, 
and you naturally get hard. For my part I'll be 
like the Ladies' Aid Society, "No, we won't stand 
for them being segregated, we want them extermi- 
nated." That's me. Back home we know you are 
behind us, for now it is a popular war. That 
always stimulates the soldier, for he feels just like 
the little boy who has his big daddy believe in him 
in a fight. He knows he gets a square deal. 

As ever 

Gordon 
Lieut. G. L. McLellan, 
1st Lieut. M.C., 
Camp Hospital 26, A.E.F. 

Another form of those "quiet days" — for any 
Marine who went through the fierce battles of the 
summer and autumn of 1918 will tell you that any- 
thing which happened before that time was fune- 
real in its quietude — was detailed in a letter by 
Private Clifford Medine, of the Marine Corps, to 
the folks at home in New Orleans, under date of 
Aprils, 1918: 



52 Dear Folks at Home 

I AM not going to tell about the exciting trip we had 
coming over, although we thought then that the 
Huns were making it hot for us, as we had three 
very narrow escapes, but now, since I have been 
up where the big show has been going on for nearly 
four years and have seen and been in real action, 
those experiences on the way over are not worth re- 
lating. We had to travel a long way to reach our 
camp after landing on the other side; the cars we 
traveled in were fine for sight-seeing, they were the 
same kind you see headed for the stockyards in 
New Orleans, but very much smaller; however, it 
was great fun at that. Every time we stopped, the 
population of the town would beat it down to the 
tracks and give us the once-over in the same manner 
one makes the rounds of a circus menagerie. As we 
could not understand each other's lingo, all we did 
was to look at each other and grin. 

After reaching our camping-place, we had a rest 
for nearly a week, then we started to get ready to 
meet the "squareheads." We had our final instruc- 
tions on our French and English gas masks and 
received our steel bonnets ; after that we waited for 
the order to the front with much eagerness. Well, 
we did not have to wait long — the order came, and 
the fellows were so full of pep when we got the news 
that we acted just like a bunch of kids going to a 
picnic. 

In a few days we were again in our "Pullmans," 



Quiet Days 53 

headed for the front. We left the train some few 
miles behind the lines and did the balance of the 
way on "shank's mare." This was early in the 
morning; we could hear the big guns going full 
blast, and every hour brought us nearer the place 
we had trained so long to get to. That morning I 
saw my first air battle, and it was a thriller — four 
French planes and two Germans. The French 
bagged both of the Huns' machines, one falling 
only a short distance from us, and before dark we 
saw five more air battles. That night we reached a 
village (I should say, what was left of a village), 
where we expected to catch a few hours' sleep, but 
had only turned in a short time when the Huns 
cut loose on it, and out we had to come and make 
for the shell-proof dugouts. (They are shell-proof 
until they are hit by a shell.) There we remained all 
night, jammed in like sardines in a box. 

We remained for three days before going to re- 
lieve the French, and those three days will be re- 
membered by me as long as I live. It was then I 
had my first experience of being under fire of the 
big guns, and we received our full share. But it only 
made us that much more anxious to get to the 
trenches. We shouldered our packs again and then 
we were on our last hike. Well, about midnight we 
reached the much-talked-of trenches and we were 
given a royal welcome by the Huns. We had fire- 
works of all descriptions; in fact they gave us a 



54 Dear Folks at Home 

little of everything they had from the smallest shell 
to the largest. 

As it was dark as pitch we could not see anything 
of No Man's Land except when star shells were 
fired, so it was daylight before I had my first look 
at No Man's Land and the German lines. Then we 
were very much surprised to learn that our trenches 
were only a short distance apart. Then one of the 
fellows said: "You know, boys, this war proposition 
is getting to be a serious matter, and if those damned 
squareheads are not careful they are going to hurt 
some one." But our boys are not taking it seriously 
— in fact, we have a bunch of fun up here. 

We remained in that sector for fifteen days and 
had some very rough arguments with the square- 
heads, which decreased their number a great deal. 
Of course we, too, lost, but very few compared to 
them, which was remarkable, as we were new to the 
game and nearly all the fighting was hand-to-hand 
business. 

Easter Sunday the Huns played us a dirty trick. 
We were going to have a big dinner, turkey and 
everything, and just a half -hour before they dished 
out the chow, the damned fools dropped a big shell 
in the dugout where the kitchen was and out went 
the big feast, flying in all directions, with the cook 
and a few helpers. My closest call was when about 
fifteen of us were in a shallow dugout enjoying a 
hot game of " seven-come-eleven " when we received 




"it takes more than one shell to break up a good 

CRAP game" 



Quiet Days 55 

a message from Fritz in the shape of a big shell. 
Luckily it was defective, or I would not be writing 
this letter. It takes more than one shell to break 
up a good crap game. 

April 8th was my unlucky day. We had been 
under a heavy bombardment of gas and shrapnel 
since four in the afternoon, and I was out on a lis- 
tening post about 2 A.M. when I was hit by a piece 
of shrapnel which put me to sleep for a while. In this 
condition, my gas mask got off, and I received a 
good dose of gas. But as the hospital and ambulance 
service at the front is very good, it was not long 
before I was in a field hospital where I got the best 
of treatment, being later sent back to a base hos- 
pital. There is an old saying that a burnt child fears 
the fire, but it is not so with the American boys. 
Since I have been in the base hospital I have not 
met a man who is not anxious to go back for more. 

The boys are making a hit with their fighting 
spirit. In some places it has been necessary to issue 
an order for court-martial to any man asking for a 
transfer to some company at the front. That is the 
prevailing feeling of ninety-nine per cent of the 
American boys over here. 

This has been a great experience for me, and I 
would not have missed it for the world. When the 
scrap is all over, though, and I can get my feet back 
on American soil. Miss Liberty will have to turn 
around if she wants to look me in the face again soon. 



CHAPTER VI 
IN THE TRENCHES 

"When the Americans come marching home again, 
their stories will be mainly of warfare in the open. 
With the coming of the great German offensive, 
trench warfare faded, never to return again, and it 
was then that the American forces, particularly 
the Marines, were thrown into the battle line. 
Therefore, the tales of trench life will be few when 
the Americans return. However, there were many 
who became acquainted with the muddy "ditch," 
and one, at least, who wrote home regarding it — 
Corporal Adel Storej^ of the Eighty-third Com- 
pany, Sixth Regiment, United States Marines. 
In the following letters to his parents in Wichita, 
Kansas, he gave a picture of its joys and sorrows: 

At the Front in France 
April 10, 1918 
My dear Father and Mother : 
We are in the trenches now. The weather condi- 
tions are fairly good now with the exception of being 
cloudy, so that the trenches could not dry up. It 
is so muddy that I think I am getting web-footed. 
We are sure getting used to the noted mud of this 
country, for we eat in mud, sleep in mud, and live 



In the Trenches 57 

in mud, and if there is anything else to do, I guess 
we do it in mud too. We are Hving in dugouts down 
in the side of the trench. We don't have very much 
to do in the daytime, but we have a plenty to do at 
night. Generally, in the evening there is some artil- 
lery dueling until dark, and then at various inter- 
vals a machine gun somewhere along the trench 
opens up. Occasionally we get a gas alarm some 
time during the night and rockets are sent up so 
we can see what is going on out in No Man's Land. 
It seems to me about the easiest way to startle a 
fellow is to have him on post by himself, and then 
have the sentry next to him shoot at something (or 
nothing) with his rifle or machine gun. 

There are several ruined towns near here. They 
are nothing but heaps of stone now. All the people 
have long since left this part of the country, leav- 
ing it entirely to military operations. 

Everything is as quiet now as if I were at home 
— not a gun or any other war instrument to be 
heard. It is just after dinner and everybody in the 
dugout with me is asleep. I had my sleep from 
5.15 A.M. to 11.30 A.M. We have to take turn 
about in our sleeping in this place, for we have n't 
enough places to sleep to accommodate all of us 
at once. 

One of the fellows is getting up now, so I think 
I'll go back to bed for a little while before supper. 
I nearly forgot to thank you for the box you sent 



58 Dear Folks at Home 

me. We certainly enjoyed it. I also got seven letters 
from home. 
Love and best wishes to all. 

At the Front, April 21, 1918 
Our sector is still quiet, but each day seems to 
bring some activities. If they keep on we may see 
some real action here yet. 

There are things happening nearly every day that 
are interesting or amusing. One incident that hap- 
pened the other day caused us several good laughs 
at the expense of the sergeant with me here in this 
post and an Irishman we call Pat. To start with, 
Pat had n't washed his mess kit for a week or more 
and it was sadly in need of it, so the sergeant per- 
suaded him to go down to a brook, which crosses 
our section of the trenches, to wash them. While 
they were busy, the Boches must have seen them, 
for they were in plain view of the German lines. At 
any rate, while in the midst of their job, about a 
six- or eight-inch shell dropped beside them, about 
thirty yards away. They forgot their mess kits and 
everything else in their hurry to get away from that 
particular spot. The Germans dropped several shells 
quite near the same spot. The boys did n't go back 
after their mess gear right away, either; they 
waited till after dark to go down again. Pat says he 
is n't going to wash his mess gear again soon, if he 
is going to cause anything like that again. 



In the Trenches 59 

Another laugh we had yesterday was on the 
French sergeant who is with us here. One of the 
boys asked him if he were married, and he answered 
"No, Infantry." 

It does not seem to warm up very fast in this 
country. It is nearly May 1st, and my fingers are 
so cold I can hardly write. 

At the Front, May 12, 1918 
My dear Mother and Father: 
I WROTE you a letter just a day or two ago, but as 
this is Mothers' Day, and the authorities are going 
to try to rush these letters home in a little better 
time than ordinarily, I will write you a little to-day. 
I do not know of much that is new or startling; it is 
just the same thing day in and day out. It manages 
to rain about every other day or so and keeps the 
trenches in continual mud. If it were not for the 
boards that we have in the bottom of the trenches, 
we would nearly have to swim all the time. 

We are up nearly all night every night and do 
most of our sleeping, that is done, in the daytime. 
Two of our meals are served in the daytime, and 
the other at the change of watches in the night. 

We have to wear our gas respirator and helmet 
at all times. It seems to me at times that my neck 
will break, and I am sure that I am beginning to 
get round-shouldered. Our respirator and helmet 
weigh a little over six pounds, and with one on your 



60 Dear Folks at Home 

head and the other hanging round your neck, you 
can imagine how it feels. And then, none of the 
passageways or tunnels and lots of the dugouts are 
high enough to stand up in. I think, though, that 
my neck must be a couple of inches shorter than it 
used to be from bumping my head on the beams. 

The box from you came several days ago and the 
one from Mary came two days ago. They were both 
highly appreciated, and I want to thank you all for 
them. There were also some letters from home, 
which were most welcome. 

I don't know very much war "dope," for I 
have n't seen a paper dated later than the 5th, so you 
must know more than I do. I wish this war were 
over, though. Even though I have only been in this 
country six months to-day, I am getting tired of it 
already. We nearly always have time to sleep in 
the daytime, but at night we either have to stay 
up all the time, or, if we lie down, we have to lie 
with cartridge belt and gas masks on, and rifle and 
bayonet by our sides. It is night now, and I am 
sitting here writing with my belt and mask hanging 
on the chair, pistol on the table and rifle leaning 
against the wall, waiting for — I don't know what 
next. We never know one minute what is going to 
happen the next. 

I don't know whether I have ever mentioned the 
rats which infest the trenches or not, but I know 
that you have read of them in different places. 




ATPje^AK/ J)S^y^/^- 



'THEY DON T RUN FROM US, EITHER, LIKE ANY 
ORDINARY rat" 



In the Trenches 61 

Never in my life have I seen rats of such size as 
these are here. They don't run from us, either, Hke 
any ordinary rat does. They will fight like a good 
fellow when you fool with them. Where we are now 
there are several cats, and in the daytime they come 
into the dugouts and around where we are, but at 
night they stay out in No Man's Land. One of the 
fellows remarked the other night that this is the 
first time in his life that he had seen cats run away 
from home by the rats. But it is a fact, when every- 
thing is quiet at night around the trenches and in 
the dugouts the rats are out in force and the cats 
take refuge in No Man's Land. 

Well, I must get ready to go on watch now as it is 
nearly midnight and my watch is the last half of 
the night to-night. 

I am sorry to tell you, but I must, for if I don't 
tell you I am afraid no one else will, Fred was 
injured two or three days ago. I don't know just 
how nor how seriously, as he was taken to the 
hospital before I had a chance to see him. The 
hospital apprentice told me it was serious, but not 
dangerous, and not to worry about it. So please do 
not worry and I think everything will be all right 
again soon. Mother, will you write to Mrs. McKaig 
and tell her.^^ Either write to her or send her this 
letter so she will know. Please do this, as I may not 
have time nor opportunity again soon to write to 
any one. 



62 Dear Folks at Home 

Write when you can. I am well and feeling fine. 
Lots of love and best wishes to all from 

Adel 

Remember me to my other friends you may see. 

Adel 
Cpl. Adel M. Storey 
83d Co., 6th Rgt., U.S. M.C. 
A.E.F., France 



CHAPTER VII 
CHRISTMAS 

Christmas in the trenches! Christmas, when the 
thoughts turn toward home and one forgets that 
the war will not last forever; forgets that there will 
come the time some day when once again he can 
look upon the bright-burning candles, the ever- 
green, the holly, and the heavily laden table of the 
Christmas feast; forgets it in the fact that here all 
is dull and cheerless, lonely, cold, and miserable. 
For the smile cannot last always on the lips of the 
fighter "over there." In spite of all he can do, the 
blues will sometimes get the better of him; and 
when should the human mind be more susceptible 
than on Christmas Eve, thousands of miles from 
home, and with grinning Death, lurking in the 
shadows, only a step away? Thus it is that the fol- 
lowing letter of Major Robert L. Denig reflects 
the feelings of many a man • who spent Christmas 
Eve in the trenches, thinking of home and wishing 
for those he loves: 

Western Front, France 

Xmas Eve, 1917 
So this is Xmas Eve and I am at the above place. 
I have a fine billet, dandy bed, small wood stove. 



64 Dear Folks at Home 

two candles, and a good French orderly who salutes 
every time I bat an eye and says, "Mon Com- 
mandant!" I mess with the general of this corps, 
a fine old gentleman, who drinks my health and 
says, "How!" "Prosit!" and "A votre sante!" 
To-day noon he had a plum pudding, but it was 
cold; the rum on it was good, though. He was 
disappointed. I have been all over the various base 
depots here in his car, and to-morrow, Xmas Day, 
I will be in the front line of a particularly active 
section to stay four days. But all that does not go 
to make a merry "Night before Xmas." I got here 
last night. I watched a German airship come over 
our lines (French) and the anti-aircraft guns fire 
on it. The firing did not seem to bother "Fritz." He 
came right on, made a wide curve, and went home. 
Later, as darkness fell the star shells lit up the hills 
and the guns began, only to die out again. The 
auto finally got to the Headquarters and I was 
shown my billet and introduced to the general. 
He at once invited me to dinner at 7.30 and said 
my studies would begin right after. He was as 
good as his word, too. The table he sets is excel- 
lent, and the cigars brought from the States by 
Marshal Joffre are to my liking. 

It was a bright moonlight night and the Ger- 
man avions were active, dropping bombs about 
our home in a most reckless manner, but the meal 
went on. Suddenly a heavy barrage opened up; the 



Christmas 65 

general said, *'A barrage," the 'phone rang, and we 
learned that Mr. Boche was making a raid. If you 
had read to-day's paper you would have seen it. 
It was soon over and I thought no more of it. 
About eleven that night, while I was in the In- 
formation Section, a young German prisoner was 
brought in. He was a sentry during the raid and 
had been captured. He was well dressed, strong, 
and well fed. The first thing he said was, "An 
American." I asked him how he knew. He said it 
was in the papers that they had taken some of us 
prisoners. I asked him how many there were of us, 
and he said about 200,000, but only about two di- 
visions of fighting men. I then asked him if he got 
enough to eat. His answer shows that the German 
can see a joke. He said, " I have fought for three and 
a half years in Russia and am quite fed up on it." 
He was twenty-six years old, and came from the 
352nd Division, just two months ago brought from 
Russia. The Information Bureau is a most inter- 
esting place; all the daily hints, news, observations, 
and aero photos come in there and are compiled. 
The maps are corrected daily, and such maps ! They 
are printed and sent out; each corps does the same; 
every trench on both sides is shown. The photos 
are clear; you can even see men, though taken 
from two thousand yards up and more. A new 
path shows up; follow up the path and there is a 
new gun or something. It is photoed; a battery 



66 Dear Folks at Home 

opens up on it by map. The next day another pic- 
ture is taken. Perhaps it needs no more treatment. 
I could write pages on that, but the above will give 
you an idea of how it all has to go. Work, work, 
work! It is a war of the magnifying glass. 

This morning 1 went to the artillery park where 
all the repairs are done, hundreds of guns of all 
sizes, and this is just one corps. Some smashed be- 
yond repair, but parts are saved and a new gun is 
made. I fired about every known kind of machine 
gun and had great sport. 

From there I went to a sawmill. It made all the 
woodwork for this corps, barracks, boxes, frames 
for dugouts, gun platforms, and a host of other 
things. Then to the depot where the daily trains of 
food, clothing, forage, etc., were being unloaded, 
and scrap metal, old clothing, etc., being shipped 
out on the now emptied food cars; whole trainloads 
of crushed rock for the roads at the front. The 
amount of work done on the Western Front has 
equaled the Panama Canal. 

At the station there are two camps, both com- 
plete; one for the going soldiers and the other for 
those returning from leave. These camps have 
canteens, lavatories, sleeping-huts, waiting-rooms, 
and eating-huts. Each has its police station and 
information bureau; for a soldier returning from 
leave might find that his unit has left; he is then 
directed how to find it. 




.^^yVA/^S — 



THE FIELD TELEPHONE 



Christmas 67 

After that I went to the "Chicago," as they call 
it. They butcher for 35,000 men, and it was most 
complete. One place the killed horses were being 
brought in and every bit of them is used; also the 
wounded horses that have to be killed. 

This afternoon I visited the canteen. They sell 
everything and what they don't have they will 
order. A good big cup of coffee costs a cent, and so 
on. They sell about four thousand bottles of wine 
per day, and I have yet to see a drunken French 
soldier. I remarked that they had an abundance of 
everything. They answered, " We get what we want 
at the front." At the evacuation hospital there were 
three thousand beds. I followed the system to 
nearly the finish. First, a big covered driveway in 
which all the ambulances stopped. The wounded 
are taken out into two big sheds, where they are 
sorted — the stretcher cases are on one side, those 
able to sit up, on the other; then the raost urgent 
cases go to the operating-room, and on to the wards. 
Those who are able to be sent away are removed to 
the interior; the others remain — i.e., those too 
seriously wounded and those who will return to 
the front in a few days. The wounded have tags 
on which is the history of the case as it goes along. 
I saw that. Then, to the operating-room where a 
man with his hands crushed was to be gotten ready 
— result of last night's raid. On into a ward where 
some nurses in the pretty French uniform were 



68 Dear Folks at Home 

fixing up for to-morrow. They had mistletoe and 
trees and were getting a real homelike look to the 
place, but the fly in the ointment for me was a 
dying ofiicer, who wanted to be home with his fam- 
ily. He had just had a big loss of blood from a 
wound — last night's raid again. A nurse was pat- 
ting his head and trying to jolly him along. I hardly 
had the nerve to wish him a Merry Christmas. I 
was glad to leave the mixture of Christmas holly 
and a dying man who talked of home and children. 
So the next place, the aviation camp, was a great 
relief. Forty planes all ready to go up, guns 
mounted, and no play. But again it was the picture 
part that interested me. In three hours from the 
start of a flight, the pictures wanted would be de- 
veloped and handed to a motor-cyclist and sent to 
the unit commander requiring them. If he were in 
a place where the land routes were bad, a plane 
would take them and drop them in a case near him. 
There was a big fine-looking lieutenant who had a 
glass eye. He told me that he had fallen seven hun- 
dred yards and lost his eye. A few months later, 
when up three thousand yards, a piece of a shell hit 
him and broke his glass eye; very funny, as he said, 
but he had his nerve and made a good landing with 
his observers. The general told me the story over 
again to-night at dinner, which, by the way, is just 
over. We wished each other a Merry Christmas and 
a Happy New Year. He then gave instructions for 



Christmas 69 

my going to the front line, so when Bobby and 
Chuck are playing with their toys, I will be some 
jQve hundred yards from the Boche ! My helmet and 
gas mask are ready and no doubt it will be a unique 
Xmas. 

Several days ago before coming to the sector 
where I am now, I got on a train near the "Hilltop 
on the Marne," which book, by the way, you should 
read. A Frenchman also got on the train. I was 
forced to stand near a door and my effects blocked 
it. He got mad as I did not get it out of his way in 
time, and said a few words, which I did not mind. 
Back of him was a good-looking girl, well-dressed 
and really pretty. She said in good English, *' Don't 
mind him, he is nervous to-day." I thanked her 
and said, "You speak English well." "I ought to, 
I am from the States." We talked a bit, and the fact 
that Xmas was approaching came up. I said: "I 
suppose you will hang up your stocking." "Of 
course. I am not too old for that, but I wish I were 
home." 

The villages up to here are badly shot up, some 
have not so much as a piece of wood left in them. 
Those that are at all used have signs over the doors, 
"Off. 6, Hom. 15, Chev. 4," meaning. Officers 6, men 
15, horses 4, so the billeting officers can tell at a 
glance what can go in. All crossroads have signs 
to such and such a front. 

Near the front big signs warn you of the gas zone, 



70 Dear Folks at Home 

which runs ten miles back. Masks then have to be 
in the alert position, as a few breaths will fix you. 

The room I have was used by the priest of the 
corps, so the mantel has a Christ in a manger, some 
cattle, the Wise Men, and Mary and Joseph. The 
old church is next door. He has been fixing it up all 
day. I never felt so lonely on "The Night Before." 

All is quiet except for a gun now and then, and 
as we are in the range, you wonder when the next 
shot will come. Some villages, the kind you used 
to see running along both sides of the road, are no 
more — just a white patch or streak of dust like 
plaster; they have been pulverized; they don't 
stand six inches up, and that in its most literal 
sense. 

Well, "A Merry Christmas to all and to all good- 
night." 



CHAPTER VIII 
MOTHER 

"Will my boy forget?" 

More than one mother has asked the question 
as she has turned away from watching the fading 
train that is bearing the only person in the world — 
for her, at least — toward that great, grim place of 
uncertainties. The War. "Will my boy forget?" she 
has asked herself as she has waited for the letters that 
are, oh, so slow in coming. "Will my boy forget?" 

But her boy does not forget. And, as evidence, 
are the three following letters written by United 
States Marines in France, to their mothers on 
Mothers' Day. The first: 

Mothers' Day 
Trenches, May 12, 1918 
My dear little Mother: 

This is one of the greatest days in the year and has 
been given to the dearest person in the world, and 
that is you. Mother. I am wondering how you are 
and what you are doing. Mother dear, I have a little 
confession to make to you, and here it is. For seven- 
teen years and over I did not appreciate, at least to 
a certain extent, my beautiful home, and most of all 
you, Mother. But the last year, I have experienced 



72 Dear Folks at Home 

the greatest part of my life, and have learned one 
of life's lessons, and that is the value of a home and 
a mother. From the day I left to join in this great 
struggle for the liberty of the world, to the present 
day, I have learned more than I ever knew, and 
have fought one of the greatest battles there is, and 
finally won. The only thing I live for is to do my bit 
and then return to you a brave, strong man, both 
mentally and physically, and to prove to you that 
I am. I guess this life I am living over here will teach 
me and a great many others a great lesson. But 
please don't worry, because I am enjoying life 
over here and am in the best of health. And the 
death-rate is very low, considering everything. 

This trench life is great. Everybody's enjoying 
it. "Bang, Bang." Had to stop to see where the 
shells were bursting. Our artillery is bombarding a 
destroyed French village in No Man's Land, sup- 
posed to have German soldiers in it. I guess they 
are gone by now. "Bang!" They are off again. 
On a patrolling party, a few nights ago, we ran into 
a German party and the Germans shouted "Halte" 
in German, and down we went to old Mother Earth 
and the music started, and after a stiff encounter, 
in which we were greatly outnumbered, we finally 
drove them off, and returned to our own trenches 
with one wounded, he being an officer. But he sure 
did excellent work after being shot, and is greatly 
praised by the men. 







RETURNED TO OUR OWN TRENCHES WITH ONE 
WOUNDED, HE BEING AN OFFICER" 



Mother 73 

I had two dandy letters from Berkley and they 
think you are dear. What did you write and what 
was the answer? Inquisitive, eh! 

Well, Mother dear, will stop for a while, just 
wrote you a few days back. 

Hoping this finds you in the best of health I am 
sending lots of love. 

I remain your loving son 

Lewis A. Holmes 
29th Co., 5th Rgt., U.S. M.C. 

The second letter has its echo in the casualty list, 
for Harry W^endel, of the Marines, no longer has his 
place in the fighting line. There is a cross above his 
resting-place in one of the hallowed fields of France; 
he is gone from the trenches, the billets, and his 
fighting, friendly comrades; a victim of gas and 
wounds received in historic Belleau Wood. And his 
last letter to his mother, Mrs. Carrie Wendel, 25 
North Mayfield Street, Austin, Chicago, Illinois, 
was the following, written on Mothers' Day, 1918: 

My dear Mother: 

Even though I did drop you a line a few days ago, 
I think it my duty to drop you a letter on this day, 
as it is Mothers' Day, over here as well as in the 
States, and I must say that my thoughts are with 
you more than ever, on account of the occasion. 
We have done our first hitch in the trenches and 



74 Dear Folks at Home 

we are now back in the rest billets for a while, where 
I hope to be able to write you more often. 

The weather over here is getting warm and we are 
getting to see more of France, and I must say that 
I do not blame France for being at war. 

It is sure pretty, since the warm weather has set in, 
and it sure makes a fellow think of home. 

I wish I were there, as it must be fine around home 
by this time, but we have to look after other things 
over here before we think of going home. 

Now that you know that I have been in the 
trenches I am sure you will worry more than be- 
fore, but. Mother, I again ask you not to do so, as 
I have not been in much danger, and none of us 
mind it in the least. 

We came in this morning after a ten-mile hike, and 
we sure were tired when we arrived in this town, 
which is a much better town than we were in be- 
fore, but after a couple of good nights' sleep I expect 
to feel much better. 

The letter which follows was not written on 
Mothers' Day, but it carries a greater message of 
love than were it addressed on the day that belongs 
to mothers. Private Eugene M. Abbott, of the Ma- 
rines, had learned that his mother was worrying. 
Wounded, tired, worn from his various fights, Pri- 
vate Abbott painted out his troubles and forgot 
them that his mother — the mother he loved and 



Mother 75 

who loved him — might forget also, in the reading 
of his cheery, happy-hearted letter from the front: 

Casual Co, 5, A.P.O. 726 

September 22, 1918 
Dear Mother: 

I RECEIVED all my mail the other day, Mother, and 
about twenty of the letters were from you. And I 
certainly was glad to get them, too. 

Was certainly sorry to hear of Sherman's death, 
as I saw him the morning we were going to take our 
position on the line, and he said good-bye to me and 
good luck. That is all I heard from him until I got 
your letter stating he had been killed. I knew about 
Ralph Kerr, as I saw his name in the casualty list. 
But I never saw Tony's in the list. No, Mother, 
Raymond and Lewis were in different hospitals. 
And I have seen neither since May. But they are 
both in fine shape, as I have talked to some of the 
boys of their company, and they tell me they were 
only slightly wounded. 

Gee! there is no use worrying about some one 
who is wounded ; as they can shoot you in a million 
different places and not hurt you a bit. They have 
to hit a good place if they put you out for good. I 
have seen them shot through the stomach and lungs, 
and it is n't so bad. Of course, it will put you on the 
bench for a while, but it is n't a bit serious. The doc- 
tors over here can fix up any kind of a wound, and 



76 Dear Folks at Home 

they either kill them outright or not at all, as it 
is very seldom that a man dies in a hospital from 
wounds received in action. They know their work 
too well, and a bullet or two through the flesh 
won't do any one any harm. Just leaves a little 
mark. 

Mother, Lill tells me that you are getting gray- 
headed worrying about me. Well, Mother, that is 
foolish, as I am just as safe as if I were back home 
with you. And that little bullet did n't hurt me a 
bit. In fact, it will be a good lesson to me. I won't 
try and stop any more of them. And you know 
nothing will happen to me, as only the good die 
young, and I have n't a chance. So please ease your 
mind, and stop worrying about me. And when this 
is all over, I will be home with bells on, and I am 
going to make some noise. I can hear them asking 
questions already. How is that.^^ I will have enough 
stories to keep you up day and night, telling them 
to you. You can't imagine what a great thing it is 
to be able to get into this little fight. And also be a 
MARINE. Just a little proud of that name, and 
so are you, are n't you. Mother.'* 

Well, Mother, they sure did give us a chance to 
show them what we could do, and we did it. We were 
in a fine place to let the dogs have a sample of what 
was coming to them; as it was this particular place 
that they wanted to get through. And, oh, what 
a surprise was awaiting them! They thought the 



Mother 77 

French were still in that sector, and when they 
started over the first time, we sure made them turn 
and run for cover, that is, what was left of them. 
The French did n't understand our setting our 
sights, and taking good aim, and then shooting, at 
all. They sure thought we were peculiar soldiers. 
The boys acted as though they were at a picnic, 
and all the time they were coming over by the hun- 
dred, and we certainly made them pay dear for 
their trial, as they never got to our lines at all. And 
we piled up the dead on them in great shape. And 
then a few days later we fought over that same 
field and had to lie down among them, as it was im- 
possible to bury them, as the field was continually 
being raked with machine-gun fire. But that is 
nothing. You don't mind it at all; after you once 
get used to it, one could sit on one of them and eat 
a meal. Ha! Ha! 

But the best way of putting them to the wall is 
to pile up "casuals" on them. You do just as much 
good as if you put them out for good, as it takes 
some one's time to take them out and then take 
care of them. But you can't afford to shoot at their 
legs. You may miss them. So we make it a sure 
thing and shoot at the body. 

I sure used to love to hunt when I was home, 
but this hunting over here has it beat a mile, as it 
is real game and lots of fun. I suppose you think I 
am becoming barbarous, but it is not true, Mother. 



78 Dear Folks at Home 

You just get that way when you are up at the front 
for a while, and they shell the ration train when it is 
coming up every evening and then you get nothing 
to eat for a day or so. We lived on canned Willie and 
raw bacon and hardtack for a week, so you see it 
is no wonder we were in to give them a good licking. 
But the boys never complained a bit; in fact, there 
was less kicking among them than there is when we 
were being fed real good. 

No, Mother, I was not wounded before, it was just 
an accident. I was going to shoot a V.B., that is a 
grenade, and it went off in the gun. It did n't do 
much but cut my hands a little and put a small hole 
in my side, but I sure was a lucky boy, as it had 
enough explosive in it to kill a dozen men. It 
knocked me down flat as a board, and bent the 
gun so bad that you could n't see through the thing. 
So you can imagine just how much force is in one 
of the V.B.'s. I think I had a horseshoe and a four- 
leaf clover in my pocket and did n't know it, as I 
sure have had some close calls, but a miss is as good 
as a mile, and I am knocking on wood all the time. 

Well, Mother, I will have to close for this time, 
and will write more real soon. With the most of love 
to all, 

Lovingly Eugene 



CHAPTER IX 
BEFORE THE BATTLE 

The accompanying letter is not from a United 
States Marine. But so well does it typify the beau- 
tiful thoughts in the minds of those who fought 
overseas, when they received the news that they 
were about to face death, that it has been included 
in this collection. The letter was written by Adrian 
Edwards, a young lawyer of Carrollton, Illinois, who 
was killed May 4th in France. Just before starting 
for the battle line, young Edwards wrote the follow- 
ing letter, which was to be forwarded to his mother 
in case he did not return. Weeks later, the letter 
was received by his mother. The son was dead — 
but the sentiment which had prompted the message, 
and the high ideals which it displays, lived after 
him, a constant, beautiful inspiration to the millions 
of men who took their place on the line of battle 
and faced the danger of the fate of Adrian Edwards. 
This is the letter: 

Somewhere in France 
My dear Mother : 

I AM about to go into battle and have instructed 
the company clerk to send you this letter in case I 
become a casualty, hence the receipt of this letter 



80 Dear Folks at Home 

by you will indicate that I am either with God or 
a prisoner in the hands of the enemy. 

Since I will never become a prisoner of the foe if 
I remain conscious and able to fight, it is doubtful 
if I will ever be an inmate of a German prison camp. 

Do not grieve that I am among the missing, but 
rather rejoice that you have given a son in sacrifice 
to make the greatest military caste of all time lay 
down the sword — to save civilization, to prevent 
future wars, to punish the Germans, who have dis- 
regarded every law of God and mankind, whose 
only god is the god of war and military force — and 
to make the world safe for democracy. 

I desire that you view the matter in the light and 
spirit of the Spartan mothers of old, who, when their 
sons went forth to battle for freedom and their na- 
tive land, said to their sons: "Either come home 
proudly bearing your shield before you, or upon it." 

War was absolutely necessary on the part of my 
country, and although I was thirty-four years old 
and nobody expected me to go, yet some one had 
to go; some one must make the sacrifice, some 
mother must lose her son. 

In the light of these facts, and knowing our 
country's great need, I volunteered, and have never 
for one moment regretted my decision, and I will 
not, although my life and a useful career must end. 
Life is not the highest boon of existence. There are 
ideals that are superhuman, interests greater than 



Before the Battle 81 

life itself, for which it is worth while fighting, 
suffering, and dying. 

If possible after the war, I would like for my re- 
mains to be brought to America and interred at 
White Hall. I have provided well for your support, 
as I have a $10,000 insurance policy with the Gov- 
ernment and several thousand with the old-line 
companies. My friends, Thompson and Jess, have 
these policies and other valuable papers. 

Good-bye, Mother; I will see you in the next 
world. You may know I died fighting for you, my 
cowitry, and all that life holds dear. 

Your son 

Adrian 



CHAPTER X 
UNDER FIRE 

Before America's fighters got into action in Europe, 
the word "hell" was seldom heard. But since the 
days of going "over the top" there has been a 
change. Boys write of "hell " to their mothers with 
never a thought of profanity — they are simply us- 
ing the one word that can adequately describe what 
they have endured. 

To be under fire is to be in hell, nothing else. The 
most fantastic designs of Satan, his lake of brim- 
stone and his exquisite tortures, must fade in com- 
parison with the newer, more fiendish forms of men- 
tal and physical anguish known as "under fire." 
Thus it is that the following letters might easily 
be called " Missives from Hell," for they are by men 
who have been — and seen, and who have con- 
quered. 

One is from Howard E. Perry, of the Seventy- 
sixth Company, Sixth Regiment, Marines: 

June 18, 1918 
Dear Sister: 

I WILL now take time and answer your letter. Have 
been having a hot time of it for some time. Was mov- 
ing back from the front. Was back for about two 




^&^.\^ — » 



KAMERAD 



Under Fire 83 

weeks and then came up to where the Germans were 
coming on to Paris when they came to us, and then 
they had to stop. Had some time of it. We held them 
back under a heavy bombardment. It certainly 
was hell; shells bursting all around you, gas and 
shrapnel, but we stayed on and then started after 
them. 

We went over the top two straight mornings and 
drove the Boches out of a big wood. Must have run 
them three or four miles. They certainly are a dirty 
bunch of fighters. They will fight with cannon and 
machine guns till you get up where you can get a fair 
chance with them, then they quit and yell " Kame- 
rad." Our company captured over a hundred pris- 
oners itself, about forty of us captured fifty-two 
in one bunch. Just imagine forty Germans taking 
fifty-two Americans alive! 

After we got the woods, then came the bombard- 
ment again. It was about twice as bad as the first 
and kept on getting worse all the time, and they 
kept it up at intervals for days. I certainly thought 
it was all up with me, and had just about made up 
my mind to stay in the woods with a lot of my com- 
rades who paid the price, but God answered some of 
our prayers and we are still here resting up our 
nerves now, getting ready to go back and get them 
again. 

We lost lots of men, but the Germans paid dear 
for them. Well, Sis, I thought I had lots of nerve, 



84 Dear Folks at Home 

but these big shells take all of that out of you. All 
it is now is being a man, and I am sure going to do 
my bit trying to be one. So, Sis, pray for me that 
I can get back and I will do the same. 

Your loving brother 

The following extracts from letters by Corporal 
G. Gulberg, of the Seventy-fifth Company, Sixth 
Regiment of Marines, are a literal voice from the 
dead; for in one letter he wrote: 

Well, Coble — I've got something new and inter- 
esting to tell you about this time. I am a "lucky 
guy," and the doctor says I can shake hands with 
myself until my dying day. Although it happened 
over two weeks ago, he never told me until a few 
days ago. I won't go into detail about it just now, 
as the hospital censor might not pass it. I was dead 
for the first time in my life. I had stopped breathing, 
and my heart had stopped, for only a few minutes. 
It was only those few minutes, but I was dead just 
the same. Four doctors worked on me and brought 
me back. Later on I 'U tell you more about it. It was 
some experience. I was pretty sick the next four 
days. 

Long before this, he had survived the terrific 
fighting in Belleau Wood, which he described as 
follows : 



I 



Under Fire 85 

Well, to begin with, I am very lucky to be alive. 
I don't know how in God's world I ever came out 
all in one piece. I suppose you have already read 
about the Marines going "over the top." General 
Pershing was here and congratulated us on our 
fighting ability. We went "over the top" one 
morning at 4.00 a.m. and made an attack on a 
German hill, well fortified with machine guns and 
mortars. It cost us quite a few men, but we sure 
stuck it to those "square heads." The woods was 
just covered with dead Marines, and Germans. 
Mostly Germans. I think we captured five or six 
hundred prisoners and forty machine guns. A few 
of the "Dutch" got away by beating it across the 
fields before we could get to them. We took up 
positions at once, and then we got hell for seven 
days. I think they were afraid to come over in per- 
son so they started an awful bombardment. First 
they used shrapnel and high explosive for about 
fourteen hours and it just rained steel all over that 
hill. The next morning they came over, thinking 
that they had blown us out, and it was then that 
my gun was christened by getting our first two 
Germans. We drove them back to their lines at 
once. They then used mustard gas on us. They 
rained a few thousand gas shells over, and we had 
to wear those darned gas respirators for a few hours. 
Some of the boys were gassed, but the line held as 
strong as ever. Every morning just before daylight 



86 Dear Folks at Home 

we were greeted with a heavy barrage. I think they 
pulled that off to stop a possible attack, which they 
thought we might make. I was certainly glad to 
get out of that place when I did. We were an awful- 
looking outfit when we came out. Not a wash or 
shave for ten days, and all in from sleepless nights. 

Then came the great drive against the Germans 
in the vicinity of Soissons, July 18th. Gulberg fell 
wounded, later to "die," then come to life again. 
Of the wound, and the battle which brought it, he 
wrote : 

I WAS bumped off, right off the reel this time, but 
my bunch got there, and made up for me, and the 
other boys who did not get there. Got shot through 
both legs and lay on the battle-field about four 
hours, before I could get help to the rear. You know, 
the only ones going to the rear are cripples and 
have troubles of their own. A fellow who was shot 
in the face came along and put me on his back, and 
with a rest now and then, in shell-holes, we man- 
aged to get to the Reg. dressing-station without 
getting shot up some more. Georgie, dear, I am 
not kidding one bit when I say that it was the hot- 
test place in the world. It rained machine-gun bul- 
lets, and shells of all sizes fell like hailstones. But 
that could n't stop the Americans. They were going 
right ahead, and they are going still. I guess I was 



Under Fire 87 

due to get it this time, as I 've been fussing around 
several fronts since March and always came out 
on the top. I 'm ahead of the game so far, anyway. 
I've got four hits to my credit. I know I sent one 
Heinie to his eternal rest camp, and I guess the 
other three recuperated, but they are not in Ger- 
many. You know, the German soldier is the biggest 
coward in the world. He will shoot and kill until 
cornered, and then throw up his hands and bellow 
forth his famous war cry, "Kamerad!" We cap- 
tured some time ago some prisoners, and among 
them were kids fifteen and sixteen years old. There 
was one boy who said he was seventeen years old 
and was at the front only five days. He was crying 
pitifully, and we gave him cigarettes and some of 
our monkey meat and hardtack. You ought to see 
how the German prisoners are treated over here. 
While at the field hospital awaiting treatment, they 
were treated the same as any one of us. They were 
given coffee, tea, bread, jam, etc., by the Red 
Cross, and the Y.M.C.A., and the French. I hope 
they treat American prisoners half as good, but I 
am afraid not. 

But the acme of being under fire was left for 
First Lieutenant S. C. Gumming, Fifty-first Com- 
pany, Fifth Regiment, Marines, for, after the tur- 
moil of battle came what was worse, the sniper. His 
letter: 



88 Dear Folks at Home 

Dear Will: 

While lying here in bed waiting for a machine-gun 
hole through my right leg to get patched up, I am 
going to write that letter that I have been owing 
you for about six months. 

The hospital is located at Vichy in southern 
France. There are two captains in the ward with 
me, and we figure that we are about the luckiest 
people in the world, as there are few left of the old 
outfit which has gotten credit from General Foch 
for greatly assisting in stopping the Hun drive on 
Paris. We stopped and cut to pieces and were 
driving back the divisions from Baden when the 
Huns threw in against us two divisions of Prussian 
Guards, which they had intended using in the drive 
against Compiegne, and these also were driven back 
until we gained all the objectives, which gave us a 
commanding position over important positions held 
by the Huns. 

I will tell you a few instances and take a chance 
on the censor letting them get by. This fighting 
was all in open country, through woods, wheat- 
fields, and towns — the country being hilly. The 
Hun infantry is not what we call infantry, in that 
it is armed with a light Maxim machine gun, weigh- 
ing about fifty pounds, and the ammunition car- 
riers are armed with rifles. 

They also have a well-organized sniping system. 
Because of the kind of fighting, it was very hard 



Undee Fike 89 

to get anything up to the infantry, and we often 
had to "roll" our dead for food and ammunition 
and dig holes in the ravine for water, which we 
could get at about two feet. 

One afternoon I was told to take up a certain 
position across a ravine as a counter-attack was 
expected. In choosing the position I noticed in a 
very good natural ridge the Huns had dropped 
several shells, so decided not to use it, but had the 
men crawl out to an imaginary line in the grass 
about a hundred yards in advance of this position 
and lay still until night — about four hours. The 
Huns did not fire, because they did not want us to 
know that we were observed. The counter-attack 
did not come that night, so the men dug in little 
individual holes, striking water at from twelve to 
eighteen inches. 

At 3.15 A.M. the Huns dropped a heavy artillery 
and machine-gun barrage just in the rear of us and 
where they thought we ought to be. At 3.30 a.m. 
they attacked, and we did not fire a shot until they 
were within a hundred yards. Well, a Hun never 
got near us and I lost only one man, while the 
ground in the rear of us was chewed up. We will 
skip to a few days later. Four- thirty a.m. June 11, 
1918, a whistle blew and the arm motion "Forward " 
was given, and line after line moved off toward a 
wood six hundred metres away, across an open 
and level field covered with grass about six inches 



90 Dear Folks at Home 

high. The ground became covered with a sheet 
of machine-gun bullets from a Prussian Guard 
machine-gun battalion and their supporting infan- 
try which was placed to hold the wood, as it was 
an important position. 

We moved forward at a slow pace, keeping per- 
fect lines. Men were being mowed down like wheat. 
A "whizz-bang" (high-explosive shell) hit on my 
right, and an automatic team which was there a 
moment ago disappeared, while men on the right 
and left were armless, legless, or tearing at their 
faces. We continued to advance until about fifty 
yards from the woods, when something hit me and 
I spun around and hit flat. I did n't know where I 
was hit, so jumped up to go forward again, but fell. 
I crawled to a shell-hole near by. I don't see how I 
ever got there, as the ground was being plowed by 
machine guns. I heard later that my company had 
one officer and twenty-nine men left when we 
reached the objective. We had gone to this sector 
with eight officers and two hundred and fifty men. 

The Hun machine gunners fire low, as after you 
are hit in the leg you fall and then they fill your 
body with bullets, so there is little chance. Also the 
Huns are not short of man power yet. The outfit 
which we attacked had no men under twenty-one 
or over forty. Of course, they were picked troops. 
Also they are wonderful fighters. One instance is 
that of a Hun who fell shot through both legs and 



Under Fire 91 

a corporal ran up to him and holding his bayonet 
at him said, "Kamerad." The Hun raised up on 
his arm to get his pistol, and seeing it was out of 
reach yelled back, "No Kamerad." A captured 
oflScer was passing a group of Marines who were 
in the way and yelled at them, "Gangway." He 
got three inches of it attached to the end of a rifle ! 

But going back to the shell-hole; it happened to 
be one made by a trench mortar and was about six 
feet deep and ten feet across. I put on a first-aid 
dressing and started figuring on how to get back to 
a first-aid station. Shells were still lighting around, 
shrapnel bursting, machine-gun bullets passing 
overhead; mingled with the cries and groans of the 
wounded and dying made it still an unpleasant 
place to be in. 

On cleaning out the woods, a sniper, who was 
undoubtedly up a tree at the time, had been left 
behind. From the sound of his rifle I figured he was 
about fifty yards away, and was picking out any 
wounded who were moving and had not reached 
cover. I had lost the rifle that 1 was carrying, so 
decided to try my Colt forty-five on him. I crawled 
up to the edge of the shell-hole and heard a "ping." 
Deciding that discretion was the better part of 
valor, I got back down again and looked at my 
pistol to find it minus a front sight. A few minutes 
later I heard some one running and another crack 
from the Hun, and a Marine came rolling in. How- 



92 Dear Folks at Home 

ever, he kindly brought his Springfield rifle with 
him. After this rifle had spoken three times the 
way was clear, and I started crawling to a first-aid 
station, leaving all equipment behind but a blanket, 
a canteen, and my trusty forty-five, so when I got 
weak I could roll up and keep warm. I got picked 
up later by stretcher-bearers and went through a 
battalion and regimental dressing-station and in an 
ambulance where we were taken to an evacuation 
hospital, which I reached at 1 p.m. Was operated 
on, stayed three days, put on a hospital train and 
came straight to this hospital. 

Calvin 



CHAPTER XI 
BELLEAU WOOD 

Any story of the United States Marines in France 
is only a shell, a makeshift, without the story of 
Belleau Wood, near Chateau Thierry. For it was 
there, fighting for weeks without relief, struggling 
against the best divisions that Germany could 
throw into the battle lines, often driving back five 
and ten times their number, that the United States 
Marines played their part in turning back the 
German drive on Paris. 

The graves are flower-strewn in Belleau Wood 
now. Tender hands have smoothed them and 
straightened the rude crosses that were erected 
there during the fire of battle. Buried without the 
accustomed blessing, the bodies of the United 
States Marines nevertheless have made it hallowed 
ground, a wood that will ever live in the memories 
of those who love freedom. No longer do the French 
call it Belleau Wood, for every map has been offi- 
cially changed to "Bois de la Brigade des Marines." 

And it was only just that the most graphic de- 
scription of how that battle was fought and won 
should have come to Major-General George Bar- 
nett. Commandant of the Marine Corps, from a 
Marine, Major Frank E. Evans, of the Sixth Regi- 



94 Dear Folks at Home 

ment of Marines, giving the details of the fight in 
which the dripping claws of the Hun were forced 
upward in surrender, and his snarling lips made to 
frame the word "Kamerad" — at the points of 
bayonets in the hands of the United States Ma- 
rines. The letter: 

We have all been under a terrific drive from the 
time we left our rest area on May 30th and left 
our trucks and went into line the afternoon of June 
1st. Holcomb's battalion was unloaded just in rear 
of the support position to which our brigade was 
assigned and his company commanders got part of 
their orders while their men were disembarking, 
and then they deployed and went in. The strain 
accumulated like a snowball running downhill until 
we were pulled out temporarily on the 15th, and at 
times in that long stretch it looked as though the 
elastic backbone of the men and officers could not 
stand another tug, but they were always ready on 
an instant's notice to deliver a new attack or stop 
a new counter-attack. 

I feel I can say without boasting that the Marine 
Brigade not only lived up to the very best tradi- 
tions of our service, but even surpassed them at 
times, because we never faced such odds and never 
were confronted by such a crisis. 

We left our rest area at 4 a.m.. May 31st, in 
camions, twenty to thirty in a camion, having 



Belleau Wood 95 

bivouacked the night before, as we had expected 
to leave at six and again at ten that night. We took 
a route that skirted within fifteen kilometres of 
Paris, and when we reached those villages we real- 
ized that we were really on our way. Our other vil- 
lages had been drab, primitive little villages where 
we had comfortable billets and a simple hospitality. 
Here we found beautiful little towns with charming 
villas, blooming gardens, and French who had that 
unconquerable gayety of the Parisian, and they 
lined the roads and threw flowers into the trucks 
or handed them to the men, and waved American 
flags at us. It was a wonderful transformation, and 
the men responded to it. Then, as we neared Meaux, 
we saw our first fugitives on a road that was a living 
stream of troops in camions, guns, and trains hurry- 
ing to the front. And the refugees went straight to 
the heart of us. When you saw old farm wagons 
lumbering along with the chickens and geese swung 
beneath in coops, laden down with what they could 
salvage, cattle driven by boys of nine or ten years, 
little tots trotting along at their mothers' skirts, 
tired out, but never a tear or whimper, saw other 
groups camping out on the road for the night, there 
was the other side, the side that I think fired the 
men to do what they did later. I saw one wagon 
coming along towering to the top with boxes and 
mattresses, and on the top mattress was a white- 
haired old lady who would have graced any home, 



96 Dear Folks at Home 

dressed in her best, and with a dignity that blotted 
out the crude load and made you think of nothing 
but a silver-haired old lady, who was the spirit of 
a brave people that met disaster with dignity. 
Meaux was crowded with them, but we had learned 
by that time that the work of getting them into new 
homes was well organized, and we knew that the 
camions that were rushing our division up to the 
lines would pick up many of them on the return. 

Up from Meaux the road went straight to the 
front with glimpses of the Marne. And it was a liv- 
ing road of war, troops on foot and in the lumbering 
camions. French dragoons trotting by them with 
their lances at rest and the officers as trim as though 
they had just stepped out of barracks; trains, am- 
bulances, guns from the 75's to the 210's, staff cars 
whizzed by, and a trail of dust that coated the men 
in the camions until they looked like mummies. 

It was late in the evening when we were diverted 
to the right of our first destination. It was midnight 
when our First Battalion halted in their trucks at 
a point seven kilometres back of where we finally 
went into line, and officers and men bivouacked on 
the roadside or in the fields. We found orders to 
throw us into line that night, but two of our bat- 
talions had been held up, the men were sadly in 
need of rest, for they had had practically no sleep 
for two nights, and it was finally decided by the 
French to put us in the next afternoon. And Hoi- 



Belle Au Wood 97 

comb's battalion arrived just in time the next 
afternoon, so that the order could be carried out 
by rushing their trucks close up to our line and de- 
ploying them out from the trucks to their positions. 
So it was June 1st when we took up the support 
line with French troops, hard pressed by the Boche, 
holding the line out in front. The news was that the 
Boche was coming. Our first P.C. (post command) 
was in the outer edge of a strip of woods that is now 
two kilometres in rear, with as much protection 
from any kind of fire as a spot in the speedway. But 
from what the French told us, the Boche guns had 
got up in small numbers and that in their fights the 
Boche had fought with machine guns, a prodigious 
quantity of them, and grenades. Our position then 
linked up on the left in front of Champillon with the 
Fifth, who in turn had the Twenty-third on their 
left. The Fifth had Wise's battalion in line while we 
had the First and Second, with Sibley in support. 
On our right were the French. The next day, the 
Second and the French began to drop back, tired 
out and outnumbered, and that afternoon, by pre- 
arranged plan, they were to pass through, and our 
line was to become the front line. In the meantime, 
to close a gap between us and the Fifth, we had 
put three of our reserve companies into line on the 
left, and that afternoon the Sixth held a front of 
seven kilometres with one company as regimental 
reserve. 



98 Dear Folks at Home 

We had dropped back from our too-close-to- 
nature P.C. and installed ourselves in a house in 
La Voie Chatel, a little village between Champillon 
and Lucy-le-Bocage. From one side we had obser- 
vation of the north, and when the Germans at- 
tacked at 5 P.M. we had a box seat. They were driv- 
ing at Hill 165 from the north and northeast, and 
they came out, on a wonderfully clear day, in two 
columns across a wheat-field. From our distance it 
looked flat and green as a baseball field, set be- 
tween a row of woods on the farther side, and woods 
and a ravine on the near side. We could see the two 
thin brown columns advancing in perfect order 
until two thirds of the columns, we judged, were in 
view. The rifle and machine-fire were incessant and 
overhead the shrapnel was bursting. Then the 
shrapnel came on the target at each shot. It broke 
just over and just ahead of those columns and then 
the next bursts sprayed over the very green in 
which we could see the columns moving. It seemed 
for all the world that the green field had burst out 
in patches of ^white daisies where those columns 
were doggedly moving. And it did again and again; 
no barrage, but with the skill and accuracy of a cat 
playing with two brown mice that she could reach 
and mutilate at will and without any hurry. The 
white patches would roll away, and we could see 
that some of the columns were still there, slowed 
up, and it seemed perfect suicide for them to try. 



Belleau Wood 99 

You could n't begrudge a tribute to their pluck 
at that! 

Then, under that deadly fire and the barrage of 
rifle and machine-gun fire, the Boches stopped. It 
was too much for any men. They burrowed in or 
broke to the cover of woods, and you could fol- 
low them by the ripples of the green wheat as they 
raced for cover. The Fifth bore the brunt of it,, and 
on our left the men raked the woods and ravines to 
stop the Boche at his favorite trick of infiltrating 
through. An aeroplane was overhead checking up 
on our artillery's fire, and when the shrapnel lay 
down on those columns just as an elephant would 
lie down on a ton of hay, the French aviator sig- 
naled back to our lines, "Bravo!" The French, who 
were in support of the Fifth and at one time thrown 
into the line, could not, and cannot to-day, grasp 
the rifle fire of the men. That men should fire de- 
liberately and use their sights, and adjust their 
range, was beyond their experience. The rifle fire 
certainly figured heavily in the toll we took, and 
it must have had a telling effect on- the morale of 
the Boches, for it was something they had not 
counted on. As a matter of fact, after pushing back 
the weakened French and then running up against 
a stone wall defense, they were literally up in the 
air and more than stopped. We found that out later 
from prisoners, for the Germans never knew we 
were in the front line when they made that attack. 



100 Dear Folks at Home 

They were absolutely mystified at the manner in 
which the defense had stiffened up until they found 
that our troops were in line. 

The next day Wise's outfit pulled a spectacular 
stunt in broad daylight. They spotted a machine 
gun out in front, called for a barrage, swept out be- 
hind it, killed or wounded every man in the crew, 
and disabled the gun. They got back O.K., and then 
the Boches launched a counter-attack that was 
smashed up. For the next few days we were busy 
pushing out small posts to locate the enemy, and to 
reoccupy such strong points as were beyond the 
main line assigned us. While it had all been pre- 
arranged, our people were anxious to recover what 
they could, without precipitating an engagement, 
of some of the ground evacuated by the French. 

The real fireworks broke on June 6th when a 
general advance on the brigade front to straighten 
out the lines and recover territory was decided on. 
In the meantime the Twenty-third had been 
brought in from the left and put on our right, Hol- 
comb's flank. Our division sector had been short- 
ened to about the front that the Sixth had held and 
we had two battalions of the Fifth and two of the 
Sixth in line. At 5 p.m. we started out for our new 
objectives, on a wonderful day, and the twilight 
is so long here that it was practically broad day- 
light. The eastern edge of the Bois de Belleau and 
Bouresches were our main objectives, with Torcy 



Belleau Wood 101 

and other parts of the Belleau the Fifth's. Sibley's 
battalion had the advance with Holcomb's in sup- 
port. The colonel and Captain Laspierre, our 
French military adviser, went out to Lucy, the 
central point behind the advance, Sibley moved out 
in perfect order, and poor Cole told me the night 
before they got him that when Holcomb's Ninety- 
sixth Company moved out later and came through 
the woods and into the wheat-fields in four waves, it 
was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. The 
artillery preparation was short and one of the pla- 
toons of our machine-gun company laid down a 
barrage. But out in the thick Bois de Belleau 
liaison was extremely diflScult. The woods were 
alive with machine guns, and at times where our 
lines and those of the Fifth had passed through, 
they soon found Boches and machine guns in their 
rear. The advance on the left was held up by stub- 
born fighting, but about nine Sibley sent in a run- 
ner with word that his left was advanced as far as 
his right, that he had reached the northeast edge of 
the woods, that the worst of the machine-gun nests 
was on a rock plateau near his post command, but 
that he had surrounded it. In the meantime word 
came in that Colonel Catlin had been wounded, and 
I felt that the bottom of the war had dropped out. 
He had such a complete grasp of military situations, 
was familiar as no one else could have been with 
what was to be done, and officers and men invari- 



102 Dear Folks at Home 

ably looked to him, and there seemed no limit to 
his capacity for work or his ready sympathy with 
and understanding of his subordinates. Captain 
Laspierre had gone to report to Feland, who was in 
charge on the left, when a shell burst near and he 
was evacuated, shocked and gassed. It was a dou- 
ble blow. The colonel had moved a short distance 
out, as he had planned, from Lucy to watch the first 
phase. He was standing up in a machine-gun pit 
with his glasses up, when a sniper drilled him clean 
through the right chest. It was a clean wound and 
our reports lead us to believe that he will be out by 
the middle of July if not sooner. 

In the meantime, because of the extreme diffi- 
culty of liaison and with a dark night closing in, 
orders went out to consolidate. This came just be- 
fore we had word from Sibley. It was just 9.45 when 
word came in that Bouresches had been taken by 
Robertson's platoon of the Ninety-sixth, or rather 
the twenty-odd men of his platoon who had man- 
aged to break through a heavy machine-gun bar- 
rage and enter the town. One of Sibley's company 
had been assigned the town, with Holcomb's bat- 
talion to establish the line from there to where the 
Twenty-third's left flank lay. It had been unable 
to advance and at the same time keep in touch on 
its left as ordered. Duncan, hearing, however, that 
this company was two hundred yards in advance 
(an error), raced ahead with his Ninety-sixth Com- 



Belleau Wood 103 

pany and was met by a terrific machine-gun bar- 
rage from two sides of, and from, Bouresches. As 
Robertson told me, he had managed to get part of 
his platoon through the barrage and, looking back, 
saw Duncan and the rest of the company, charging 
through the barrage, "go down like flies." Robert- 
son had one haK of the line and Duncan half. 
Robertson blew his whistle just before this to bring 
up all of his half of the line, and missed Lieutenant 
Bowling. He passed the word, "Where is Johnny.?" 
and saw Bowling get up, face white with pain, and 
go stumbling ahead with a bullet in his shoulder. 
Duncan, the last he saw of him before he was 
mowed down, had his pipe in his mouth and was 
carrying a stick. Dental Surgeon Osborn picked 
Duncan up and with a hospital corps man had just 
gained some shelter when a shell wiped all three 
out. 

Just after Robertson gained the town and cleaned 
out the Boches after street fighting, in which his 
orderly. Private Dunlavy, killed later in the defense 
of the town, captured and turned on them one of 
their machine guns, others filtered through, and the 
Seventy-ninth Company, under Zane. Holcomb 
was very enthusiastic about Zane's handling of the 
town. 

In the meantime, although the capture of 
Bouresches was the most spectacular of the first 
fighting, Sibley was having heavier work in the 



104 Dear Folks at Home 

Bois de Belleau. He reported early that there were 
many machine guns in the woods. At first prisoners 
came in early, and the men who brought them back 
reported that the companies were cleaning up fast 
with few casualties. Young Timmerman charged 
one machine-gun nest at the point of the bayonet 
and sent in seventeen prisoners at a clip. 

After the first batches of prisoners came into the 
courtyard of our post command and stood with 
hands up in the orthodox Kamerad style, and the 
runners were full of the easy manner in which 
Sibley was going through the woods, came a mes- 
sage that the woods ahead were full of machine 
guns, and that one, on a rock plateau in the north- 
eastern edge, was especially troublesome, a nest 
estimated to hold between ten and twelve guns. 
Then came word that he had reached the limit of 
his objective at the edge of the woods, that he had 
surrounded the machine-gun nest, and was await- 
ing orders. Then came word from the brigade to 
dig in and consolidate the positions won. Two 
companies of Engineers were placed in Lucy, one 
for each battalion. We sent out a truck loaded with 
ammunition and tools to Bouresches, got up our 
Stokes and one-pounders for Sibley, and Holcomb 
was ordered to straighten out his line from Bou- 
resches straight down to the Triangle Farm, where 
the Twenty-third rested its left flank. 

The truck went out with Lieutenant W. B. Moore, 



Belleau Wood 105 

the captain of the track team, halfback on the foot- 
ball team, and president of the senior class at 
Princeton last year (1917). The whole road was 
lighted up by flares, exploding shells, and swept by 
both artillery and heavy machine-gun fire. It was 
a great trip, and we had fifty volunteers from the 
Headquarters Company, of whom we only sent 
the necessary crew. When it got back we knew 
we could hold Bouresches, and the counter-attack 
at 2.30 in the morning, although they got within 
thirty feet of the town, was smothered by our fire. 
The 7th was spent in getting rations, water, and 
ammunition out to both battalions, and the little 
Ford we have hung on to, although it was twice on 
the verge of salvage, ran through a period of thirty- 
six hours over the road to Bouresches in daytime 
and at night, or to a point from which the stuff 
could be carried off to the left to the ravine running 
along the right of Sibley's position. All that day 
and the next Sibley's men rushed machine-gun 
nests in hand-to-hand fighting. The guns were em- 
placed on crests in the thick woods, on rocky ridges, 
with fire to all points. Their light guns could easily 
be moved around to our flanks or rear and the 
Boches certainly know the art of working through, 
infiltrating, and opening fire from unexpected quar- 
ters. Many times the groups got a footing on these 
crests, only to have to fall back in the face of a 
deadly machine-gun and stick-grenade fire. It was 



106 Dear Folks at Home 

work of the most reckless courage against heavy- 
odds, and they took their toll of us for every gun 
captured or disabled. All through this time Sibley 
had Boches and guns on his flank and in his rear, 
for the woods were held by both forces, and the 
liaison on our left had been crippled by the initial 
advance in which the battalion on his left, Berry's, 
and his own had to fight their way in the dark, and 
Berry was wounded early in the fight. 

On the 9th, Sibley was withdrawn to a point 
from which the artillery could hammer away at 
the machine-gun nests, which had been thoroughly 
located. For an hour fifty American and French 
batteries of 75 's and 155's threw everything they 
had into those woods on the right. Hughes went in 
on the 10th, and his first message was that the artil- 
lery had hammered the Bois de Belleau into mince- 
meat. Overton, who had taken over the Seventy- 
sixth Company that day, charged the old rock 
plateau position in brilliant fashion, killing or cap- 
turing every gunner and capturing all the guns, 
and with few casualties. He *'got his" later when 
the Boches shelled him in his hastily dug-in posi- 
tion for forty-eight hours. Hughes captured six 
Minnenwerfers, about thirty guns, light and heavy. 
The copy of commendations we sent to you will tell 
you better than anything else the story of Sibley's 
magnificent work before the artillery preparation 
made the task an easier one. Young Robinson 



Belle Au Wood 107 

charged into certain death to take one nest, and a 
string of bullets caught him full in the breast. 
Young Roberts, a runner told me, — the last time 
the runner saw him, — was flat on a rock not 
twenty yards away from one gun, blazing at it 
with an automatic in either hand. They hit him 
three times, and hit him hard before he would con- 
sent to go to the rear. There was not an officer left 
in the Eighty-second Company, and Sibley and his 
adjutant, Bellamy, reorganized them under close 
fire and led them in a charge that put that particu- 
lar nest out of business at the most critical time in 
all the fighting. I heard later that at that stage 
some one said, "Major Sibley ordered that — " 
and another man said, "Where in hell is Sibley?" 
Sibley was twenty yards away at the time, and a 
hush went down the line when they saw him step 
out to lead the charge. And when the word got 
around that dead-tired, crippled outfit that the 
"Old Man" was on the line, all hell could n't have 
stopped that rush. With all the stories that I've 
heard about it, I wonder if ever an outfit went up 
against a more desperate job, stuck to it so gamely 
without sleep, at times on short rations, with men 
and officers going off like flies, and I wonder if 
in all our long list of gallant deeds there ever 
were two better stunts than the work of Sibley 
and Holcomb. 

Since the 10th, while the fighting has not been of 



108 Dear Folks at Home 

that savage hand-to-hand fighting, we've been in 
there, the two regiments, always advancing, never 
giving an inch, attacking and smashing counter- 
attacks by the Hteral score. They've had five and 
part of a sixth division versus our brigade, and half 
the time three divisions at once. One of them, the 
Twenty-eighth, is one of their finest. 

Just one more incident of Sibley's work. The sup- 
ply of grenades gave out at one time, due mostly 
to the fact that no one knew what a veritable nest 
of machine guns those woods sheltered. They would 
have been a Godsend, and as one of the men said, 
"When I thought of the hundreds I'd thrown away 
in practice, I'd have given a million dollars for a 
grenade more than once." 

They 've had reliefs for a few days, the battalions, 
for it 's a battalion war now, but many people would 
have hardly called it rest. It was the best we could 
get, but the rest woods were shelled at times, there 
was no chance to scrub and wash clothes, and if it 
rained no shelter except ponchos and little dugouts 
that were soon flooded. But every time they went 
back into the lines, dead tired, but with a spirit 
that made any task possible. There were times 
when it seemed to me, with my talk over the 'phone, 
their oflScial and unoJBScial messages and their re- 
ports of casualties, of bombardments and gas, that 
they must have reached their limit and could not 
hold. But they held like grim death without a 



Belle Au Wood 109 

whimper and got away with it. At one time, when 
a borrowed regiment took over the sector for a few 
days, the battalion marched back to the Marne 
for a swim. They had to go before daybreak, and 
return at nightfall, and by the worst of luck those 
were cold, rainy days. 

We're still in [this was written on June 29th] and 
the line now takes in all the woods from our right, 
which Sibley is now holding, up to the left where 
the French are. In one night, on the 26th, Shearer 
moved his line forward for the Fifth and sent in 
560 prisoners. The next two nights, Keyser, on 
the extreme left for the Fifth, moved his lines and 
took up the positions assigned without a loss, and 
sent patrols three hundred yards ahead without 
resistance. 

They (the Germans) have had the fight knocked 
out of them and admit it. The artillery has done 
wonderful work at all times. The last big draft of 
prisoners had been cut off from supplies for three 
days by our fire. One man in the Sixteenth Com- 
pany, Leonard, captured and held in the front 
lines, brought in, unarmed, a captain, four lieu- 
tenants, and seventy-three Germans. Another 
Marine, wounded and found in a dugout by Shear- 
er's men, had had his fun when they hammered 
questions at him, in a smattering of German, 
French, and English. When they asked him how 
our food supply was he said, "Bon. Beaucoup 



110 Dear Folks at Home 

chow." When they wanted a line on our machine 
guns they asked, "Combien put-put-put?" and he 
came back with "Beaucoup put-put-put." The 
prisoners vary a lot, some fine big chaps, and many 
look like retired farmers, under-sized, or running 
down to seventeen. At first they thought we were 
Canadians, but the last lot say all the Germans 
know we have about 700,000, and they say they 
don't want to fight us, that we give them no rest 
and our artillery punishes them terribly. We've 
found lots of letters and diaries, and the diaries are 
interesting. They start off with the "Gott-mit- 
uns" lines and boasts of what they will do to the 
Big Americans. Then they tell of lying in the woods 
under a terrific fire and about the big Americans 
who seem to know no fear. Then they end — a 
complete story of disillusionment. 

I know you will be interested in what gallant 
work the officers and men are doing. The men have 
learned that the officers will lead them anywhere, 
and the men worship them. And the officers will 
talk you to a finish at any time about their men. 
But they'll hit us heavily on officers, for they had 
to fight with a reckless bravery to carry the day. 

Speaking of the relation of officers and men the 
writer says: 

I don't believe there ever were battalions where 
officers and men had such a common feeling of 



Belle Au Wood 111 

strong love and affection and mutual admiration 
for each other. They were brothers in arms in the 
fullest sense of the word, and if ever any one asks 
why our officers and men cannot adopt the French 
attitude of officer and men comradeship, you can 
tell them that those days in the lines simply was 
the medium through which the constant care, the 
faithful performance of duty, and the live interest 
that our officers, notably the platoon officers, had 
shown from the Quantico days in their men, was 
translated into as perfect a comradeship as could 
exist between men. I saw them toward the end out 
in the woods, and I found them out there serenely 
confident, their faces showing the strain, but the 
old spirit unconquered. And I found them either 
clean-shaven or shaving, and Turner, Hughes's old 
adjutant, then acting as Garrett's adjutant, as 
Hughes had just been evacuated gassed, could have 
walked into the White House and passed inspection. 

Major Evans, in spite of his seK-effacement in 
the foregoing letter, has received the following cita- 
tion for his work during the battle: 

Major F. E. Evans, Adjutant, 6th Marines: 
During the trying events of the early part of June, 
1918, this officer carried the administrative burdens 
of his regiment with ,great efficiency. His untiring 
efforts, constant diligence, and intelligent trans- 



112 Dear Folks at Home 

mission of orders from the Brigade Commander 
during a number of days when his Regimental 
Commander was in an advanced headquarters and 
not always in communication, contributed in no 
small degree to the successful part played by this 
regiment in the operations against the enemy from 
the 1st to the 16th of June, 1918. 



CHAPTER XII 
LITTLE ELIZABETH FORD 

"Drat that Lizzie!" 

You've said it a hundred times yourself as a 
"rattHng good Httle car" swung around a corner 
on one wheel, nearly collided with the Pierce- Ar- 
row parked near by, just missed knocking over a 
nurse and a baby-carriage, scraped the paint from 
a delivery wagon, and, rattling and banging and 
jolting, joggled along on its always uncertain jour- 
ney. The butt of jokes and gibes it has been, an 
Ugly Duckling that must, perforce, wait for the fires 
of battle to prove that it, too, can have its share in 
making the world safe for Democracy. 

When the first contingent of United States Ma- 
rines were leaving America for "over there," a 
friend of one of the regiments, Mrs. Elizabeth 
Pearce, presented it a Ford car for whatever use 
might be necessary. 

The days and months went by. At last, the Hun 
was rushing on Paris and the United States Marines 
were called upon to help stop the progress of the 
marauder. Then it was that the Ugly Duck- 
ling came into her own and — but read the story 
in a letter from Major Frank E. Evans of the 
Marines : 



114 Dear Folks at Home 

France^ June 22, 1918 
Mrs. Charles A. Childs, 

Newport, R.I. 
My dear Mrs. Childs: 

Just now we have been enjoying a brief and tem- 
porary respite from our work in the hnes, and be- 
fore we go back I do want to tell you some news 
that I know will make you feel justified in your ex- 
cellent choice of the Sixth Marines, you and Mrs. 
Pearce and Miss Willard, when you presented the 
beautiful colors to us. We did not finally receive 
them from our quartermaster until just on the eve 
of our sailing for France, and we wanted very much 
to have you down to League Island to make an 
oflScial presentation, but, as you know, orders were 
countermanded a number of times, with us as well 
as with the other troops, and at the last moment we 
had General Lejeune present them in the name of 
all three, and the Regimental Order cited all the 
facts of the presentation. 

And the Ford which Mrs. Pearce gave us will go 
down in Marine Corps history, at any rate. The 
"Elizabeth Ford," as the Regiment knows her, 
has had a unique career. Not only in Quantico, 
where I drove her, but in Bordeaux, and later up 
in our training area, she carried everything from 
sick men to hardtack. Then we had two months 
in the trenches near Verdun, and at the end of it 
it seemed as though she would have to go to the 



Little Elizabeth Ford 115 

scrap-heap. Her top was entirely gone, and we made 
a mail wagon of her. In some way the men, who 
have an affection for her that you can hardly com- 
prehend, patched her together and we brought her 
down to our first rest billets. A week later we had 
to go to another area, forty kilometres north of 
Paris, and in the long line of motor cars that made 
the trip the Elizabeth Ford sailed along without 
mishap and was the talk of the Division. 

Then we came up here and she rose to the heights 
of her service and her record. The night we took 
Bouresches with twenty-odd men, and news came 
through that others had filtered in and the town 
was ours, we shot out a truck-load of ammunition 
over the road. The road was under heavy shell and 
machine-gun fire. Later in the night we sent the 
Ford out with rations. For the next five days she 
made that trip night and day, and for one period 
ran almost every hour for thirty-six hours. She not 
only carried ammunition out to the men who were 
less than two hundred yards from the Boches, but 
rations and pyrotechnics, and then, to the battalion 
on the left of the road, in those evil Belleau Woods, 
she carried the same, and water, which was scarce 
there. For these trips she had to stop on the road 
and the stores were then carried by hand into a 
ravine. I saw her just after her first trip and counted 
twelve holes made by machine-gun bullets and 
shrapnel. At one time the driver. Private Fleitz, and 



116 Dear Folks at Home 

his two understudies, Haller and Bonneville, had 
to stop to make minor repairs, and another time, 
when they had a blowout, how she and the men 
escaped being annihilated is a mystery. The last 
time I saw her she was resting against a stone wall 
in the little square of Lucy-le-Bocage, a shell- 
wrecked town, and she was the most battered object 
in the town. One tire had been shot off, another 
wheel hit, her radiator hit, and there were not less 
than forty hits on her. We are trying every possible 
way to find new parts and make a new Ford of her. 
She is our Joan of Arc, and if it takes six old cars 
to make her run again we'll get those six and rob 
them. The men have a positive and deep-seated 
affection for her that is touching. The service she 
did us, just when it was vital to get out to the 
fighting men ammunition, food, and water, can 
never be estimated. 

I hope you will let Mrs. Pearce and Miss Living- 
ston know the history of the flag and the Ford, and 
I will try to write them direct, for our indebtedness 
to them and to you is too great for words. With my 
best wishes and the most pleasant memories of 
your great kindness to Mrs. Evans and myself, 1 
am Faithfully 

Frank E. Evans 
Major, U.S. M.C. 
Maj. F. E. Evans 
6th Marines, A.E.F. 



CHAPTER XIII 
OVER THE TOP — WITH GOD 

With the coming of war, there is always the fear 
that the life at the front, the carnage of battle, and 
the killing of one's fellow man will act as a deterrent 
to religion. But, it seems, war has an opposite 
effect, the details of which are told in a letter from 
Lieutenant Merwin H. Silverthorn, of the United 
States Marines, to his family: 

July 1, 1918, Monday, 8.10 a.m. 
Dear Marie, Mother and Folks : 
I am sorry that I have not had an opportunity to 
write sooner, but such is the case. There is so much 
to write about that this letter will be quite inco- 
herent. June is a month that will always be the 
most vivid in my memory. It will always be a 
month that, though I live to be a hundred years 
old, whenever I recall it, I will have to thank God 
that I am now writing this to you; and a pang of 
deep sorrow will always pierce my heart when I 
think of some of my bosom friends, men young in 
years, but men from the ground up, who have made 
the supreme sacrifice, and with a smile on their 
faces, and their eyes lifted to God, but still plunging 
forward in that seething mass of hell, have met 



118 Dear Folks at Home 

their end like true Americans. It is a sight that will 
always be vivid; and an experience that has changed 
me overnight, from a youth seeking adventure to a 
man who has shaken dice with death, who has seen 
that grim monster reach out his cold, scaly hand 
and pick out so many brave men; but thanks to 
your prayers and mine, and thanks to the dear 
Father, who sent His Guarding Angel to protect 
me, I am still alive. 

If there be any person who does not believe there 
is a God, let that man go "over the top" just once. 
It will do more to convince him than a thousand 
years of religious meetings. 

The first time I went "over the top" was on 
June 6th. Oh, what a happy bunch we were! I and 
the best friend I had, next to Mick Williams, were 
shaking hands with one another, happy and exult- 
ant in the fact that at last we were "going over." 
Only two minutes later he had met his end, but he 
met it like a hero, an American and a man. I am 
speaking of Steve Sherman, who, no doubt, you 
will remember I have mentioned in some of my 
letters. I think his mother is a member of the 
Marine Mothers' Club. If she is, and you see her, 
Mother, convey to her my deepest and most sincere 
sympathy. Tell her I was with Steve only a few 
minutes before he fell. I did n't see him when he 
went down, but I collected the details from men 
who did, and they all are unanimous in saying he 



Over the Top — With God 119 

fell fighting hard with his face toward the enemy 
and a smile on his face. It was a machine gun that 
got him. 

Of the forty men in my platoon that started to 
cross a small ravine only one hundred yards across, 
four of us reached the other side. That was when we 
took Bouresches. We were in the line for one whole 
month. I state as an absolute fact, and it has been 
confirmed officially, that the Marines stopped the 
great German drive, saved Paris, and then, with 
over half of their number killed or wounded, drove 
the Germans back and once more saved the day. 

During the month of June, I went "over the top" 
three times. You have read of the fierce fighting in 
Bois de Belleau. I have had the honor of leading 
my platoon "over the top" twice in those now 
famous woods. The second time, June 25th, with 
scarcely a handful of men, we completely routed 
the Germans and killed, wounded, or took prisoners 
more men than we had ourselves. 

No doubt you have heard the story of the Marine 
who in our last attack became lost and found him- 
self surrounded by Germans. He surrendered to 
them, and they questioned him. He told them who 
were opposite them, but they already knew that. 
He then told them that another regiment of 
Marines were in their rear. This was a new one on 
them. There was a major, three captains, and 
seventy-nine men. The major said, "If you will 



120 Dear Folks at Home 

guarantee that your men won't kill us, we will sur- 
render to you." The Marine replied, "I will guar- 
antee that, but I don't know the way back to regi- 
mental headquarters." The German major said, 
"I do." Whereupon he got out his compass and, 
with the Marine in the lead, the German major, 
three captains, and seventy-nine men, started back 
through the woods and arrived at regimental head- 
quarters O.K. 

I suppose father will want to know if I kept a 
stiff upper lip. Yes, Dad, I did. As I lay wounded, 
out in a clover-field, with machine-gun bullets cut- 
ting the top of the grass, and shrapnel breaking all 
around, the field covered with dead and dying, I 
thought of what you used to tell me, "Keep a stiff 
upper lip, boy." Well, I did. I crawled along toward 
some woods, four hundred yards away. Would I 
ever make it? Every minute was a year. At last, 
when I was one hundred yards away, I could stand 
it no longer. I would n't crawl and be killed crawl- 
ing, so with a prayer on my lips (it was n't the first 
one that day by any means) I made a dash for it 
and gained the woods safely. 

The Hun is a dirty fighter. He will keep his 
machine gun going till the last minute and then 
yell, "Kamerad!" In our last attack, there was 
some hand-to-hand fighting. We gained the top of 
a knoll. The line was broken, men were wavering, 
when some one on the left let out a yell. It ran like 



Over the Top — With God 121 

wild-fire up and down the line. With a mighty yell 
the Marines came tearing down the slope. The 
Huns were helpless from fear. They threw down 
their guns and ran or yelled, *'Kamerad!" Here 
it was that the bayonet came in for a goodly share. 
You may think it heartless of us, but let me ask 
you this : If you have had your pals killed alongside 
of you, and have missed death yourself a number 
of times, by inches, are you going to have mercy 
on the coward that shoots wounded men, on the 
dog that kills women and children, the skunk that 
sets fire to hospitals, the people who deem them- 
selves ordained by God to rule the world .^ Would 
you have mercy .^ At last men grew tired of killing 
with the bayonet and then took prisoners. 

As a summary let me tell you just a few of the 
things I have been through and seen in the last 
month of hell. I have gone "over the top" three 
times; have gone through a machine-gun fire pro- 
nounced by experts to be as murderous as any yet 
encountered in this war; I have lain in a field 
wounded for two hours while the machine-gun bul- 
lets kept cutting the grass not one inch over my 
body; I have lain wounded and been shot at by a 
sniper, who picked off a number of wounded men 
all around me; I have been bombarded by shrapnel, 
high-explosive shells, mustard gas, phosgene gas, 
vomiting, and other gases; I have been shot at with 
a machine gun from an aeroplane; I have Iain in a 



122 Dear Folks at Home 

shell-hole from 8 p.m. till 6 a.m., alongside of a ser- 
geant, both of us with our trench knives in one 
hand and cocked pistols in the other, thirty-five 
yards from Hun machine guns, in a thick woods, 
while they threw hand grenades at us, sniped at us, 
raked the top of our little shell-hole with machine 
guns, shot at us with trench mortars, whizz-bangs, 
and one-pounders, as well as rifle grenades. We 
were so close that when they would shoot up the 
flares to illuminate the surrounding territory, the 
flares would go practically straight up in the air, 
but would fall behind us. I have known men who 
went raving mad last month ; I have seen men with 
arms blown off, legs blown off, and heads blown 
off. I have had men killed on all sides of me and 
have not been touched. I have only had my clothes 
off four times (that is, for sleeping) from the 8th of 
April till the 28th of June. I have gone days without 
sleep or food. The last month has been a horrible 
nightmare. 

Now, dear people, don't worry about what I have 
been through; it is all over now. Just give a prayer 
to our Heavenly Father for bringing me through. 
After it is all over, I will come back to you all, to 
tell you more about the awful month of June, 1918, 
when the Marine Corps saved the day. 

My best love to you all. 

Your sweetheart, son, and brother 

Merwin 



Over the Top — With God 123 

Lieutenant Silverthorn, shortly before writing 
this letter, was wounded during an attack, but 
continued the charge. For this, he received the 
following citation: 

Second Lieutenant Merwin H. Silverthorn, 

20th Company, 5th Marines: 
Who, on June 13th, received his commission as 
2nd Lieutenant, continued in the attack after being 
wounded. 



CHAPTER XIV 
THE QUALITY OF A HERO 

Upon the official records at Marine Corps Head- 
quarters in Washington, D.C., appears the fol- 
lowing citation, upon which Captain George W. 
Hamilton, of the Marines, was awarded the Dis- 
tinguished Service Cross: 

Captain George W. Hamilton, 49th Company, 

5th Marines: 
During an attack on the enemy, showed excep- 
tionally brilliant leadership. He advanced his com- 
pany a kilometre to his final objective against an 
enemy in trenches and equipped with machine 
guns. He and his company passed through several 
zones of machine-gun fire. When it is known that 
this company lost approximately ninety per cent 
of the officers and non-commissioned officers and 
fifty per cent of company in casualties, Captain 
Hamilton's rare quality of leadership is apparent. 
During the latter stages of the attack, after the 
men had lost their leaders, he ran up and down his 
line under severe fire leading his men forward and 
urging them on, by cheering and similar efforts. He 
did this at great personal exposure. Captain Ham- 
ilton displayed a quality of extraordinary heroism. 



The Quality of a Hero 125 

And in the following letter, knowing nothing of 
the citation to come, not realizing that he was a 
hero, that he was otherwise than a hard-fighting, 
resourceful Marine, Captain Hamilton told of the 
difficulties that beset one when his brain, his quick- 
thinking mind, must form the barrier between his 
men and death. The letter was addressed to a friend 
in Washington, where Captain Hamilton makes his 
home, telling of the action near Chateau Thierry, 
and follows: 

Forty-ninth Company 
Fifth Regiment Marines 
American E.F. — 6/25/18 
Dear"V": 

As promised, I want to give you as much of an 
idea as possible of our operations during the present 
month. I am writing at my dugout door, near the 
edge of the woods which mark our reserve-line po- 
sition, and the facilities make it so difficult that the 
letter will probably not be all I had hoped it to be. 
On June 5th, Old Jule Turrill, our battalion com- 
mander, got word that we were going to participate 
in an honest-to-God attack the next morning^ and 
selected my depleted company and the Sixty- 
seventh to start things for his battalion. We were 
to have Americans on our right and French on our 
left, and were to make our get-away at 3.45 a.m. 
I'll have to skip some events here, but at 3.30 my 



126 Dear Folks at Home 

company was ready, having relieved another Ma- 
rine company in the front line. I was supposed to 
guide left and keep in "liaison" with the French. 
I could n't see them and knew that at 3.45 they had 
not started. At 3.50 I started things myself, and we 
were off. Had n't moved fifty yards when they cut 
loose at us from the woods ahead — more machine 
guns than I had ever heard before. Our men had been 
trained on a special method of getting out machine 
guns, and, according to their training, all imme- 
diately lay down flat — some fell. 

I realized that we were up against something 
unusual and had to run along the whole line and get 
each man (almost individually) on his feet to rush 
that wood. Once inside, things went better, but 
from here on I don't remember clearly what hap- 
pened. I have vague recollections of urging the 
whole line on, faster, perhaps, than they should 
have gone — of grouping prisoners and sending 
them to the rear under one man instead of several 
— of snatching an iron cross ribbon ojff the first 
oflScer I got — and of shooting wildly at several 
rapidly retreating Boches. (I carried a rifle on the 
whole trip and used it to good advantage.) Farther 
on, we came to an open field — a wheat-field full of 
red poppies — ^and here we caught hell. Again it 
was a case of rushing across the open and getting 
into the woods. Afterwards we found why it was 
they made it so hot for us — three machine-gun 




/fff^A^ J&^tSV/S-- 



IT WAS ONLY BECAUSE WE RUSHED THE POSITIONS THAT 
WE WERE ABLE TO TAKE THEM" 



The Quality of a Hero 127 

companies were holding down these woods and the 
infantry were farther back. Besides several of the 
heavy Maxims we later found several empty belts 
and a dead gmmer sitting on the seat or lying near 
by. It was only because we rushed the positions 
that we were able to take them, as there were too 
many guns to take in any other way. 

After going through this second wood we were 
really at our objective, but I was looking for an 
unimproved road which showed up on the map. 
We now had the Germans pretty well on the run 
except a few machine-gun nests. I was anxious to 
get to that road, so pushed forward with the men 
I had with me — one platoon (I knew the rest were 
coming, but thought they were closer). We went 
right down over the nose of a hill and on across an 
open field between two hills. What saved me from 
getting hit I don't know — the Maxims on both 
sides cut loose at us unmercifully — but although 
I lost heavily here I came out unscratched. I was 
pushing ahead with an automatic rifle team and 
did n't notice that most of the platoon had swerved 
off to the left to rout out the machine guns. All I 
knew was that there was a road ahead and that 
the bank gave good protection to the front. It hap- 
pened, however, that there was a town just a few 
hundred yards to the left, and while most of the 
Germans had left, about one company was forming 
for a counter-attack. I realized that I had gone too 



128 Dear Folks at Home 

far — that the nose of the hill I had come over was 
our objective, and that it was up to me to get back, 
reorganize, and dig in. It was a case of every man 
for himself. I crawled back through a drainage ditch 
filled with cold water and shiny reeds. Machine- 
gun bullets were just grazing my back and our own 
artillery was dropping close (I was six hundred 
yards too far to the front). Finally I got back, and 
started getting the two companies together, and I 
sent out parties to the right and left to try to hook 
up with our French and American friends, but it 
was n't until the next day that we got a satisfac- 
tory liaison. 

And now came the counter-attacks — five nasty 
ones that came near driving us back off our hill — 
but — we hung on. One especially came near get- 
ting me. There were heavy bushes all over the hill, 
and the first thing I knew hand grenades began 
dropping near. One grenade threw a rock which 
caught me behind the ear and made me dizzy for a 
few minutes. But I quickly recovered my senses 
when I saw one of my gunnery sergeants jump 
toward the bushes with a yell and start shooting to 
beat the devil. Not twenty feet from us, was a line 
of about fifteen German helmets and five light 
machine guns just coming into action. It was hand- 
to-hand work for several strenuous minutes, and 
then all was over. We hauled the guns in later and 
buried most of the Germans. 



The Quality of a Hero 129 

After the counter-attacks we settled down to the 
work of digging in. Gee, but it was a long day ! The 
night proved to be worse, and on account of my 
flanks I was more worried than I cared to admit. 
The Boches went up the valleys to our right and 
left and from their flares I thought we were all but 
surrounded. Two more companies had come up, 
however, and the fire from the rifles and auto- 
rifles of several hundred men must have made the 
Germans nervous, too, for about dawn they went 
back and only left several machine guns to worry us 
during the next day. 

I 'm tired of telling about fighting and am going 
to knock off. We held the positions; the lines came 
up on the right and left, and we now have satisfied 
the Germans that they have n't a chance as long 
as they are up against Marines. 

Best to you. 

George 



CHAPTER XV 

AFTER THE BATTLE 

Out of the Zone of Death they came, men who had 
fought and bled, that the Hun might be cheated of 
his prey. Back from Belleau Wood, every one of 
them a hero, and every one of them with but one 
idea — first to bathe and cleanse himself of the 
grime of battle, then to seize pencil and paper that 
he might write the glorious news home! Master- 
pieces were written on those days, masterpieces of 
description, even if now and then the rules of 
grammar were forgotten and the proper phraseol- 
ogy smashed to shreds. And when Private Joseph 
Greenburg, of the Ninety-sixth Company of Ma- 
rines, chewed the end of his pencil, then dashed 
toward his task of description, he became the 
spokesman of the Marines, and told his story as 
only a "hard-boiled" Marine could tell it: 

We Marines were looking for a fight. We got it. 

About two weeks ago the Huns got to acting 
rather rambunctious. They were beginning to give 
the French a sort of a merry chase. The villagers 
had started to abandon their homes, and they went 
out of town a-scooting. Then somebody decided 
that the "blinkin' 'uns,'* as the British put it, 
ought to be stopped. 



After the Battle 131 

So they gave the Marines about twenty-four 
hours' notice and stuck us on this side of France. 
We took our positions in a wood, where we found 
a secondary Hne of French. They had been expect- 
ing their comrades to fall back and join them. 

Well, sir, we had n't been there but three hours 
by the clock when, blame me, if they did n't come 
off that hill, and the Huns after 'em. Gee, we were 
mad ! But we could do nothing, for if we fired we 'd 
hit the French, too. So we waited. 

As luck would have it, the French outran the 
Huns and got to us first. The Huns, fagged, stopped 
opposite us in a wood, expecting to finish the job 
to-morrow. They did n't dream the Americans 
were there. And especially the Marines. 

That night our artillery gave them a rousing 
welcome. We sang, "Hot time in the old town to- 
night." The next day they brought up artillery, and 
then we began to celebrate the Fourth of July. 
Something seemed to tell the Huns there was 
something wrong, and they did the hesitation for 
a while. 

But Paris is a pretty fine burg, and they did want 
awfully bad to see it. For five days they stayed in 
their shells and sent them over hot. On the sixth 
day we figured they 'd had plenty of rest for Huns, 
and figured perhaps they'd fight. We decided the 
stop they'd made in the wood was the last one 
they'd make before Paris. 



132 Dear Folks at Home 

So we ups and at 'em. I '11 say they had machine 
guns beaucoup. But our first line had forgotten 
how to about face, and they began to back away by 
degrees. Fifty yards or more, and they let loose the 
old Kamerad stall. But too many of our boys had 
dropped by their gun fire, and it was dog eat dog. 
Kamerad, my eye! We were the regular "devil 
dogs" they had named us. 

It was one of their crack divisions, we heard later, 
and we knew why. It was because we made 'em 
crack. We not only cracked 'em, but we broke 'em. 

We were out to kill Germans, but, of course, we 
took a lot of prisoners. We had to. What are you 
going to do when some youngster comes running 
up to you and pleads? From a distance you can 
plug him and grin. But when he runs up to you, 
chest bared, unarmed, and bawling like sixty, all 
the blood vanishes from before your eyes and you 
forget what you set out to do. 

Oh, when it's their turn they ride us like hell. 
But we've put the fear of God into them, and they 
know it. 

I was plugged, but I'm getting along fine now, 
and I'll be out pretty soon to take another whack 
at the boneheads. If you see my name in the casu- 
alty list, forget it. I'll be all right when you get 
this. 

Sincerely Joe 



After the Battle 133 

The fighting had a different effect upon Private 
Howard L. Grimm, of the Forty-third Company of 
Marines, that of making him reaHze how glad he 
was to be still alive, and it was this theme that 
ran through his descriptive letter to his mother: 

American Expeditionary Forces 
Young Men's Christian Association 
Headquarters: 12 Rue D'Aguesseau, Paris 

June 18, 1918 
Dearest Mother: 

You have probably read of what the Marines have 
done over here and are probably worried to death. 
I am alive and well, eating three a day once 
again. 

T am going to tell you about our part in the drive, 
that is the Second Battalion of Marines. There 
are a thousand things I cannot tell you until I see 
you, which I hope will be soon. 

The French were retreating when the Marines 
were shoved upon the line. We checked the Boches 
in short order. Then one morning we made an at- 
tack. I was in the first wave. We drove them back 
in the face of their heavy machine-gun fire, capturing 
about eight hundred prisoners and many machine 
guns in the first attack. Then we held our position 
under heavy shell fire. 

Later we made our second attack again on Boche 
machine guns and drove them back, taking about 



134 Dear Folks at Home 

four hundred prisoners, and the Marines in all 
took about two hundred and fifty machine guns. 
The Second Battalion alone took about twelve 
hundred prisoners. The Boche casualties I do not 
know, but I do know we fought against some of 
Germany's best troops. Bismarck's army, two di- 
visions, and the Crown Prince's pet division. A cap- 
tured Boche captain said the Marines were the 
worst troops to advance they had ever known, 
and it was never thought possible by them that 
any one could advance against their machine 
guns that way. We took their machine guns and 
turned them on them when we held our line. 
This was all open warfare in the woods. We could 
have had plenty of German souvenirs, but I was 
too glad to get out alive to bother carrying any. I 
have thanked God that He has permitted me to be 
here and able to write you, and my faith has been 
so strengthened that it has made me a new boy. 
The Boches are so afraid of us that they run at sight 
of a bayonet. They call us "devil dogs." One in- 
stance only — a sergeant and corporal were taking 
twelve prisoners to the rear when they ran into a 
bunch of Boches. They took a few shots at them and 
soon "Kamerad" came from all directions. When 
they arrived at the rear they had over one hundred 
prisoners. 

The Boches do not want to fight. They are on the 
run all along the front and I think we can look for 



After the Battle 135 

a speedy end to the war. The Americans are show- 
ing them how! This is all I am going to tell you 
except that we were relieved by American "dough- 
boys" and are now behind the lines. The French 
call us the "Saviors of Paris" and nothing is too 
good for a Marine. 

PvT. Howard L. Grimm 
43d Co. 2nd Battahon 

5th Regiment, U.S. Marines 

Major Henry N. Manney, quartermaster of the 
Sixth Regiment, did not even wait until he had been 
relieved, before he wrote his mother. June 10th 
was the date of his letter, and it was written in 
Belleau Wood, while the fight still was on: 

Dearest Mother: 

I suppose you know by this time where we are, as 
all the American, British, and French papers are 
ringing with the exploits of the Marine Brigade. 
The performance was so splendid that for once the 
censorship lifted, and not only have all the papers 
had the Marines in their principal headlines for 
days, but they have even mentioned ofiicers by 
name,. Since it has all been printed in the papers, 
there is no harm in telling you that we were rushed 
across country to stop a Boche push that was 
coming through the French like tissue paper. We 
stopped them with a bang, and then tore into them 



136 Deak Folks at Home 

and took back the ground that had been lost. The 
Marines lived up to their reputation and even bet- 
tered it. A week's steady fighting with practically 
no sleep and very little food and water during the 
first part of it, but we are still going forward. 

Our casualties are not small, but the Boches have 
been terrifically punished and the ground regained, 
so it is worth it. I wish that I could have shared more 
in the glory of the actual fighting, but my job keeps 
me back out of range of everything except artillery 
fire. My men have caught it taking up rations at 
night as well as my mules, and one of my oflScers 
was badly wounded. A sniper got the colonel through 
the chest, but he is doing all right, and the lieuten- 
ant-colonel is running things so well that there is 
no change to be noticed. This is open warfare, just 
our style, and nothing could be finer than the way 
our men went to it. 

As the papers said, the men were rushed across 
country by motor, and I had to take all the wagon 
trains and march. The train was several miles long 
and we hiked day and night. I had about an hour 
and a half's sleep in about five days, and on one 
part of the march we covered fifty-five miles in 
twenty-two consecutive hours of marching. The 
news reached us on the march that the Brigade 
was fighting and needed us, and we sure came 
a-running. 

This is actually the first chance I have had to 




/rcie^Af^ liiSA^/vva- — ' 



■ THIS IS OPEN WARFARE, JUST OUR STYLE 



After the Battle 137 

write since the 29th of May, and I don't know when 
I will be able to mail this, as we have no post-office, 
and there is no time to censor mail. Maybe I can 
get the censor to stamp this and pass it. 

We are living right in thick woods without any 
shelter, and have to keep under cover because of the 
observation of the Boche planes. Luckily we have 
had fine weather and no rain, so it has been all right. 
My bedding roll is slung as a hammock between two 
trees, and mules are tied all around me. They cer- 
tainly are some songbirds, too. 

Am terribly busy, and must stop now. 

Lots of love. Henry 

Nothing to worry about, and will write as soon as 
I can. 

Private H. A. Leonard wrote his letter from a 
hospital. But never was a man in a hospital hap- 
pier. Had he not taken part in filling the gap be- 
tween the Beast and Paris? Incidentally, Private 
Leonard, in his letter, gave the viewpoint of the 
man on the American fighting line toward the man 
he fights, now and after the war: 

American Ex. Forces 

June 10, 1918 
Dear Helen and Mother: 

Well, I suppose that by now you have heard of our 
big fight. It certainly was glorious. We were rushed 



138 Dear Folks at Home 

up to the big drive and put right on the Hne. We 
stopped and held them for five days and then went 
after 'em. They had a lot of artillery and machine 
guns that raised the devil with our lines until we got 
up to them, and then it was our turn. We sure did 
a good job. I am rather worried about Harold, as his 
platoon was rather badly shot up, but I was talking 
to his officer at the dressing-station and he said that 
Harold was a great kid with the bayonet, and that 
he got through the machine-gun fire all right. We 
got a lot of prisoners and they were mighty glad to 
be captured; at least, they said they were. I was 
talking to one in the ambulance who said that the 
war is about over for them. He also said that he 
was going to get his family from Berlin and come to 
the States after the war. I told him to get that idea 
entirely out of his head, as we were going to lynch 
them as fast as they came. Just two hours before 
he had been mowing our men down with a machine 
gun, and now he is figuring on going to America to 
live in peace. Can you beat that for nerve.'' He was 
educated, too, and spoke good English. We found 
two or three machine-gun crews chained to their 
guns; maybe they did n't get down on their knees, 
though ! 

Now, about myself. Here I am in a hospital with 
a little gas in my lungs which will soon be out. I 
have absolutely nothing. My pack and clothes were 
taken from me, my toilet articles were hit, and all 



After the Battle 139 

smashed up. Had a Bible in my pocket. It has a 
bullet hole in it, but I never got touched. I can't 
understand that yet. Anyhow, as I was saying, I 
have a suit of pajamas on and that is all I possess 
in the world. 

Don't ever worry about the cause, as it is very 
safe. The Allies may give a little ground, but when 
our time comes we will have the men, and they 
won't. It sure is a sight for bum eyes to see a bunch 
of mad Americans having a rough-and-tumble, 
hand-to-hand fight with about three times their 
number of Boches. The latter just have n't got 
a chance, and how well they must know it by 



now! 

Corp. H. A. Leonard 
78th Co., 6th Regiment 

U.S. M.C., Am. Ex. Forces 

*' Post-impressionistic" is the word that Private 
E. A. Wahl, of the Marines, used in his descriptive 
letter following Belleau Wood, a word that shows 
the difference in the fighting man of to-day and 
yesterday. Time was when a man in the army would 
not have known the word "post-impressionistic" 
from a brand of catsup. But times have changed, 
and all America is fighting now, even the private 
who has the command of words such as is shown in 
the following letter: 



140 Dear Folks at Home 

June 27, 1918 
My dear Ann: 

There is so much to say of the events that have 
transpired the past thirty days that it is rather dis- 
couraging to attempt a letter of ordinary propor- 
tions. This will have to be a sort of post-impres- 
sionistic one of what we have gone through. 

To begin with, I will have to say that I am sin- 
cerely thankful to the Almighty Power that I am 
here whole-skinned writing home again. Providence 
saw fit to let me go through unscathed the sixteen 
days of hell in the front lines (June 4th to 20th). 
One becomes convinced of the existence of an un- 
seen Power guiding him if he comes through alive 
an experience like ours, in case he previously en- 
tertained any doubts as to such things. 

Decoration Day, just after I had written you my 
last letter (quite a long one, did you receive it.?) we 
received sudden orders to pack and move from the 
quiet little country place just outside of Paris where 
we were resting. At midnight we started off. Motor 
trucks were to have transported us, but they did n't 
seem to have enough to carry us all even though 
there were hundreds continually passing. So it was 
a case of hike again for the Seventy-third (for 
which, by the way, we're quite noted) and several 
other Marine companies. That hike is pretty much 
a blur. I hope I will never have to do one like it 
again. We had one rest of from twelve noon until 



After the Battle 141 

nine in the evening of the first day. The rest of the 
time it was just tramp, tramp along until dusk of 
June 3d, when a string of motor trucks hove in sight 
to take us the rest of the way. (We were then in the 
region where the refugees were trundling past in 
their many pathetic states.) Did those trucks look 
good to us! Tired out beyond description, we did n't 
care where we were or where we were going, just so 
we could ride. We learned from the weary, dust- 
covered drivers (many of whom had n't slept for 
several days) that the situation was serious and 
that we were badly needed. We bumped along all 
night at a tremendous speed, passing the long lines 
of dim-shaped wagon trains, truck trains, cannon, 
troops, and the poor refugees, who, of course, were 
bound in the opposite direction. 

Just as the day was breaking, about 3 a.m. of the 
4th, we drew up in the main street of a little de- 
serted village in the midst of the boom and flash of 
big guns. We climbed out with our machine guns 
and equipment and trailed off into a little near-by 
woods. Excitement began to drive away our weari- 
ness then. We were told to rest, and that we 
would n't be going into the lines until evening. 
Managed to sleep for a couple of hours, but the roar 
from the artillery and machine guns in front be- 
came so heavy as the day advanced that rest was 
impossible. Stretchers with wounded French Ma- 
rines began coming up from the lines. Ambulance 



142 Dear Folks at Home 

after ambulance dashed down and dashed back 
again. We reahzed that we were at last in the thick 
of things. About noon a couple of high-explosive 
shells dropped near us. Then another and another. 
We were caught in an enemy artillery barrage that 
lasted about two hours. Our first casualty occurred 
then, a Corporal Johnson was hit by a piece of shell 
through the back, and died a few minutes after- 
wards. 

We sought shelter everywhere, falling flat on our 
faces as we heard shells come screeching down. That 
was our only protection. We just had to lie flat 
wondering if the next was going to get us. One shell 
landed about fifteen feet from me and exploded. 
I heard a scream at the same time and looked up. 
It had landed in a hole where two chaps from an- 
other company were lying. Several of us rushed 
over to the spot and pulled them out. They were 
horribly cut up, but not dead. A horse tied to a 
tree about five feet away was kiUed instantly. I 
think it was the poor animal that screamed. An 
ambulance rolled by at that moment, and we 
stopped it, had the boys' wounds dressed, and they 
were rolled away. I can't begin to describe my state 
of mind — you will just have to imagine it. We 
were getting our first real taste of the horrors of 
war. 

At dusk we fell into single file and started down 
a road toward the lines. Dead and wounded were 



After the Battle 143 

liberally distributed along the road. Shell-shock 
victims acting like crazy men were being led to the 
rear by comrades. I will never forget that first trip 
through the pitch darkness of tangled woods down 
to our first positions. Bullets whistling around us 
snipping off tree branches, big shells screaming and 
crashing in all directions, stumbling into shell-holes 
and over fallen trees, taking about three hours to 
reach our positions — it tested one's endurance to 
the limit. We arrived about midnight to a position 
on the edge of the woods overlooking a piece of 
No Man's Land. Threw off my pack and ammuni- 
tion boxes and fell right to sleep. Did n't even 
trouble to dig or find a hole. Awoke at daylight 
amid an awful din. The infantry around us was 
preparing to make an attack and our artillery was 
throwing over a barrage. Everybody was awake 
and on the job. We could see the Boches running 
out of a little patch of woods to our left that our 
guns were shelling heavily. We opened up on them. 
We silenced one of their machine guns in the woods 
that was shooting directly into us. Then our infan- 
try started over after them. Several of the boys 
dropped on the way, but most of them made it. 
Only a few of the Boches were left in the woods and 
most of them called, "Kamerad!" 

The whole sixteen days was just a nightmare of 
this sort of business — attacks and counter-attacks. 
I cannot describe it. The aggressiveness of the 



144 Dear Folks at Home 

Marines halted this drive of the Germans, I am 
told. We are the pets of the French people these 
days. We advanced and held ground which the 
French troops that we relieved were evacuating. 
It has been costly, though. Ted Fuller (Captain) 
an old classmate of mine was killed. Major Cole, 
of the Machine-Gun Battalion, was wounded badly 
and died a couple of days afterwards. Our Colonel 
Catlin was shot through the right lung by a sniper, 
but is getting along fine, I understand. Captain 
De Roode was slightly wounded in the foot. So, 
you see, destruction plays no favorites here. It is 
not only the lowly private that gets picked. We 
have lost some splendid chaps from our company. 

The Germans have suffered terribly, though. 
Whenever we have made an advance and taken 
over positions evacuated by them we find their 
bodies lying about everywhere and grave after 
grave. We have taken enough of their machines 
to equip a division, I guess. As far as I know, no 
Marines have been taken prisoners ; a few are miss- 
ing and undoubtedly many of the wounded have 
been captured. No German attack has been suc- 
cessful, so naturally they have n't had much oppor- 
tunity for making many captives. 

The spirit of our men is wonderful. It is beyond 
the wildest imagination. They walk right into rifle 
and machine-gun fire in the most matter-of-fact 
way. They have just taken the Boches off their feet. 



After the Battle 145 

We have n't given them a minute's rest. Our First 
Lieutenant Daly, who already has two Congres- 
sional medals of honor, walked right into a German 
machine-gun nest with a couple of infantrymen 
and heaved hand grenades at them until the few 
that were left screamed, "Kamerad!" Bullets had 
cut his gas mask and clothes in several places, but 
he came back unscathed. Then — he was slightly 
wounded back of the lines here the other day by a 
piece of shrapnel that burst near our field kitchen. 
It made the old Irishman as mad as the devil. We 
expect him back from the hospital in a few days. 
He is an indispensable part of the Seventy-third 
Company. 

Day before yesterday I took my shoes off for the 
first time since the month of May. Several of us 
went down to the Marne and took a much-needed 
bath. We did n't have any clean clothes to put on, 
but it was refreshing at that. Since we came out of 
the lines we are lying in reserve a few kilometres 
back. Another division comes up in a day or two 
to relieve us and then we go to some town for a 
rest, get a new outfit of clothes and equipment, 
and new men to replace the casualties. 

I understand we are to take part in the parade 
of July 4th in Paris. It is rumored that the Brigade 
of Marines is to get the "fourragere" — I hope it's 
true. Croix de Guerre are to be handed out quite 
liberally I understand. General Pershing has made 



146 Dear Folks at Home 

several citations of us in army orders, they say. 
His former Chief of Staff, General Harbord, has 
had the Marine Brigade since General Doyen 
was transferred to the States. 

The boys have souvenirs galore, helmets, pistols, 
rifles, etc. Some of them have so much stuff that 
they torture themselves carrying the load around. 
Souvenirs have not interested me particularly as 
yet. There will be plenty of time to pay attention 
to them. The German equipment is splendid — 
that of the divisions that have opposed us, at least. 
They may be on their last legs, but their packs and 
everything they have is of the typical German 
thoroughness, and certainly does not indicate any 
shortage of material for the military. Their machine 
guns we have used to advantage. I guess many a 
Boche was put out of commission by his gun in the 
hands of the Marines. 

I have much more to say, but will write no more 
at this time. 

Unexpected orders came to-day that we go into 
the lines again. It is rather disappointing but 
"C'est la guerre." 

As ever E. A. 

Twenty-four hours after his relief. Private Walter 
Scott Hiller was writing his family of the victory, 
and adding, at the end of the letter, the wish that 
had been in their hearts also, during all those dark 



After the Battle 147 

days of fighting: "God be with you." Belleau Wood 
had been a testing-ground for Hiller — the testing- 
ground that had shown him what the traditions of 
the Marine Corps meant and all they stood for. 
The letter: 

Somewhere in France 

June 16, 1918 
Dearest Mother, Dad, Brothers and Sisters: 
I received four letters just two days ago. They 
were handed to me while I was sitting in a hole in 
the ground about two by four waiting for the 
Boches to show up. 

Mother, you asked if I ever regret being a Marine. 
Do you think any man would regret being a part 
of such an organization, that have proven to be 
real fighters, that can go up against the Kaiser's 
best-equipped and well-trained forces and give them 
the defeat we did.'^ Not this man; even though I had 
fallen it could not have been for a better cause. We 
have surely realized since we have been over here 
what a wonderful country and nation the United 
States is, and to be able to fight for her is a splendid 
opportunity. 

When going up to the^front some weeks ago, we 
saw people moving everything they owned out of 
the towns because the Huns were advancing. It 
made tears come to my eyes and of several other 
boys that I have since talked to regarding that 



148 Dear Folks at Home 

scene. My thoughts went home to you folks, and 
I pictured some things in my mind if the Germans 
were victorious the world over. I just set my jaw 
and determined to do everything I possibly could 
to eliminate that curse from the earth. 

You can't imagine the feeling it gave when we 
had them on the run in retreat. There were many 
that did n't get a chance to run because our men 
were too cool and steady with their firing. Every- 
thing was n't our way all the time, and several 
times things looked pretty dark for us. It was then 
more than ever before that I remembered your 
teachings, dear Mother, and I offered some prayers 
that I know were answered, because when I could 
go through what we have and come out without a 
scratch, I'm sure He must have blessed me. 

If you could have seen us this morning, I '11 ven- 
ture to say you would n't have known me. None of 
us had shaved since Decoration Day, and some 
had n't washed at all. I washed once in the whole 
time. Our clothes were in shreds, and to say we 
looked like tramps would be expressing it mildly. 
Our "chow" was n't much of a variety. It consisted 
of bread and "monkey" meat, as we call some 
canned meat that comes from Argentine, and some- 
times a little sugar to put on the bread. It is very 
unhealthy to make a fire within several miles of the 
lines, so we never had any hot stuff, but as the 
weather was good all the time, we got along O.K. 



After the Battle 149 

What care we for hardships or danger when we 
know we are doing our duty, and fighting for the 
things we are? I 

Well, I guess I've told you all I can to-night. 
Will write again soon and tell you a few things and 
answer your letters, but I want to get this off as 
soon as possible to relieve you folks at home. 

God's blessings be with you all at home. 
Your loving son and brother 

Walt 

And now, a letter with an echo. We who stay at 
home wonder often what it is that makes a man a 
hero, what psychological action takes place to 
make him forget all fear, all thought of personal 
safety, that he may do his duty to the utmost. 
Upon the record case of Corporal Fred W. Hill at 
Marine Corps Headquarters, appears a citation for 
bravery, which reads: 

Corporal Fred W. Hill, Headquarters Company, 

6th Marines: 
Regardless of personal danger he showed con- 
spicuous bravery in carrying ammunition from the 
battalion dump into the actual fight in the face of a 
heavy machine-gun and rifle fire. When in charge 
of the dump he learned the necessity for hand 
grenades in the assault against strong enemy gun 
positions, and without waiting for orders or assist- 



150 Dear Folks at Home 

ance carried hand grenades to the point of danger. 
This on the 8th of June, 1918. 

And in the letter that he sent his mother, soon 
after his reHef from fighting in Belleau Wood, comes 
the answer to the question. For Corporal Hill was 
white with anger against the Beast; he had just 
seen humanity torn by its claws, and the sight had 
cut deep. In Corporal Hill's letter comes an expla- 
nation of why the United States Marines outfought 
the hordes of Germany's best warriors at Belleau 
Wood, in spite of the odds of numerical strength 
against them. They had seen something to make 
them grit their teeth and forget everything save the 
thought of revenge. And in Corporal Hill's letter to 
his mother, comes the story — from one who saw: 

France, Sunday, June 30, 1918 
My dear Mother: 

It sure seems good to be able to write you once 
more. For just about one month we have had no 
time for letters, but I have thought of you often 
during that time and I suppose you know where 
we have been. I have seen more warfare crowded 
into that short length of time than I ever thought 
I would. Of the Marines and what they accom- 
plished, I have little to say, as I know that the 
newspapers have handled it in first-class shape, 
and to say that I am pleased is putting it mildly. 



After the Battle 151 

I have always hoped and expected that they would 
do their share, and when the French say that we 
fight like our "Canadian cousins," it is praise of 
the highest sort. Our success seems to have elated 
the French people, and they seem very well pleased 
by the demonstration that we can more than hold 
our own. In other words, a Marine is ace-high 
around here. 

The war came home to me more this time than 
it ever has before. One reason being that 1 saw 
my first line of refugees coming up here, and it was 
an impressive sight. As the German advance con- 
tinued, these people were forced to leave their vil- 
lages and most of their belongings and flee. Many 
of them on foot, but the majority had a two- wheeled 
French wagon drawn by one horse. On this they 
piled all of their needed and desired articles and 
left. There was an unbroken line of them for several 
miles, and in some cases they were driving herds 
of cows and flocks of sheep ahead of them rather 
than to allow these to fall into German hands. This 
line of march is one that I will never forget, but the 
people themselves seemed to bear up bravely under 
it. The other reason is that there are new faces in 
the ranks where many of our best friends used to 
be. The long marches are over for Les Runkie, 
while Walter Capps and William Garrioch are now 
in hospitals. The latter two, as far as I could learn, 
are not wounded seriously and were well taken care 



152 Dear Folks at Home 

of. My old pal, Jack Drake, also was wounded and 
many other friends I have in the outfit. No one 
realizes better than I do how fortunate I have been, 
and I know that it is a surprise to me for which I 
am very thankful. 

We always had food during our stay and the 
fellows found a dandy way to warm it. A candle is 
cut up and put in a can and a rope put in for a wick. 
We were not allowed to burn twigs, as the least 
sign of smoke would disclose our position and be 
followed by a load of German "scrap iron.'* This 
candle fire burns low and clean, and we were able 
to fry bacon and warm beans and coffee even in 
the very front-line positions. One of the stunts was 
to fry a piece of bread in the bacon grease and then 
sugar it. Sounds funny, but I swear I never ate 
anything that I enjoyed more than our "trench 
doughnuts." As far as I know, our brigade has been 
cited twice for their work, and one by General 
Pershing that I saw stated that we were the only 
ones who held the Germans and did not give way 
an inch. On the first day of the battle, I saw Roy 
Chase and he was O.K. Just had a chance to say 
"Hello" to him and had to go on. I wish I could 
describe a battle-field over which an advance or 
retreat has been made. The shell-holes, equipment, 
ammunition, arms, and soldiers whose fighting is 
over will always be remembered by me. 

One instance that bears mention is the fact that 



After the Battle 153 

in our advance we captured several Boche machine 
guns, and in a short time had them turned around 
toward Germany and were picking off Huns with 
them. Humorous crowd — what? Shooting up 
the Boche with his own guns and ammunition! 
This was by far the most open game of warfare 
that we have been in yet, and it seemed much 
better than the trenches. For several days and 
nights our quarters were an abandoned creek-bed or 
ravine. During a lull in battle we would curl up 
around a nice soft rock and get a few winks of sleep 
to keep us going for an all-night vigil. Practically 
our only covering was the sky and I should n't 
wonder if I were to get lonesome, on walking down 
an asphalt street in the city, to see all of that per- 
fectly good lodging-space going to waste. I never 
knew what a relief it was to be able to remove my 
shoes and sleep. Also wash and brush my teeth. 
It sure is a grand and glorious feeling. 

There are so many little incidents which I desire 
to relate that it would take a week to do so. One 
of importance is that during the whole encounter 
the Marines never seemed to forget their purpose 
here, and I know personally of several instances 
where they allowed the Boche hospital men to 
appear in the very open and carry on their work 
and never fired a shot. Likewise a fellow returned 
to our lines with a Hun bandage on him. He fell 
close to the enemy's lines and they dressed his 




154 Dear Folks at Home 

wound and turned him loose. I had plenty of oppor- 
tunities to pick up souvenirs, but the idea sort of 
goes against the grain with me, and there is noth- 
ing belonging to a German which I desire to remind 
me of what I have been through. 

One form of wound which I can understand now 
is shell shock. It seems to be an advanced stage of 
nervous breakdown and is caused by a "boiler" 
bursting very near to a man. In many cases he is 
not injured, but the suspense before bursting and 
the immense concussion are too much for him and 
he breaks down. June 2d was my anniversary in the 
Marines and it was a memorable one. We came in 
for a great "panning" from the Boche artillery for 
several hours and some were too close for comfort. 
Akers and I had several come so close over us that 
we could feel the ground "bounce" when they hit. 
A few very close ones were "duds" and did not 
explode. One ripped up the road about twenty feet 
from us and about six feet from Major Sibley, and 
then failed to burst. If there ever was a miracle 
tjiis was it. 

Now for something cheerful. About our fourth 
day we were beginning to long for a change of diet 
when a runner coming through a deserted French 
town found several live chickens. These he knocked 
over "pronto" and brought into the front line 
where we cooked them over a candle. It's useless 
to try and tell you how much we enjoyed it. 



After the Battle 155 

During a bombardment we would get into as 
much shelter as possible while it lasted. Was talking 
to a fellow one day in the woods when a German 
shell whistled over. This fellow heard it coming and 
said, *' Well, there goes a call to quarters," and he 
was gone. Another fellow was an Italian bugler. 
The big shells have a peculiar sound when they 
break and he describes it like this. He heard a big 
shell coming Bzzz — Wop! and he says, "I never 
even answered.'* 

With love to you and all. Keep the good work 
up. Your soldier 

Fred 



CHAPTER XVI 

BREAKING THE NEWS 

"The first thing they ask is paper and pencil to 
write a letter home — or ask me to do it for them." 

A Red Cross nurse was speaking, and her subject 
was the man who had fallen wounded and who now 
sought to beat the casualty cablegram with a letter 
saying that his wound was "nothing at all." And 
certainly the letters which have come from United 
States Marines have borne out the nurse's state- 
ment. 

Cheer, cheer, cheer — that is all that emanates 
from a wound, as far as the folks at home are con- 
cerned. Never a complaint, never a whimper, never 
a cessation of the brightest attitude toward life and 
the hope of recovery — such is the sentiment of 
thousands of letters that have come to the United 
States from wounded fighters in France. For in- 
stance, when Private Grover Noonan, of the Ma- 
rines, wrote home of his wound, he told no dis- 
agreeable details. Instead here was his letter: 

American Expeditionary Forces 

July 24, 1918 
Dear Folks: 

Just a line to say hello and tell you I am still here. 
Had a little bad luck and got hit in the right leg. 



Breaking the News 157 

But it is nothing serious and by the time you get 
this I will be out and kicking again. I received all the 
letters, but have had no chance to answer them. 
Will take a day off as soon as I can and write each 
one of you, for I believe I have had a letter from 
each of the gang. Also had one from Neil and he is 
still in fine shape. Was glad to get John's registered 
letter and hear that Nana was getting well. Surely 
am proud of our little sis and knew if the time came 
she would be just as brave as they can be. Will quit 
here and write when I can. Be good and don't worry 
about me. With love 

The Kid 
PvT. Grover C. Noonan 
Hd., 6 R. Marines 

The same was true of Private Charles J. Vanek, 
seeking to cheer up the folks at home, and talking 
of being wounded as though it were some form of a 
new entertainment, devised for worthy Marines: 

June 14, 1918 
Dear Cousin: 

Thought I would write you and let you know I was 
wounded last Thursday, June 6th, by a machine-gun 
bullet. I was shot through the right thigh just above 
the knee. I was operated on Sunday in Paris. I am 
in St. Nazaire and am feeling fine. We sure did give 
the Germans the devil. We captured a little village 



158 Dear Folks at Home 

and took many prisoners. I was wounded while we 
were making the attack. I lay on the field three 
hours after I was wounded, so you see I was not 
shot bad. I could not get up and leave without 
drawing fire, so I lay with the rest of the boys. 
After it got dark I went to the first-aid dressing- 
station and had my leg dressed. I also took a 
wounded prisoner with me. One of the boys cap- 
tured him in the village, also took his machine gun. 
We went over the top without any artillery bar- 
rage. We sure did some scrapping to take the vil- 
lage. 

How is everybody getting along at home? I hope 
all the folks are well. I guess you have read in the 
papers what the Marines did last week and first 
part of this week. I sure am tired of lying in the 
hospital. We are treated fine by the doctors, nurses, 
and Red Cross, but I would much rather be up at 
the front with the boys. By the time this letter 
reaches you I guess I will be back with my com- 
pany. Will close for this time. With love to all. 
Write soon. 

Your cousin 

Charles J. Vanek 
Censored by 79th Co. 
6th Regiment 
U.S. Marine Corps 



Breaking the News 159 

As for Corporal John F. Pinson, Jr., he had one 
regret. It was not that he had been wounded — 
but that his wound had kept him from further par- 
ticipation in the fight. And his letter to his mother 
in St. Louis was as rollicking as though he were on 
his vacation and writing home about the biggest 
fish he'd ever caught: 

Dear Mother: 

Lots more adventure. New sights and at present 
good times. Suppose long before this you have re- 
ceived one of those "dog-gone" telegrams stating 
that your son was slightly wounded in action and 
have been worried needlessly on my account. If so, 
stop worrying right away, because I am having the 
best time since I have been in France. I am only 
slightly wounded in the leg and hand and can walk 
without any trouble — and eat. 

Well, what do you think of the Marines? I sup- 
pose that there have been some accounts of our 
action in the papers "over there." The French and 
American papers are full of such accounts con- 
cerning the Marines over here. Every one is talk- 
ing of nothing but Marines. The French are parti- 
cularly enthusiastic about us, and as soon as they 
find out we are Marines they just can't do enough 
for us. 

It was my luck, just as usual, to miss the best 
part of the fighting — being scratched up at the 



160 Dear Folks at Home 

very beginning by some German shell fire, but the 
boys certainly did their part wonderfully well. Up 
to the present they have pushed the Huns back 
over five miles and are still going strong. 

It was certainly hard fighting all the way against 
almost overwhelming odds, but nothing living 
could have stopped them when they once got 
started. One company's officers could not stop 
them and they penetrated about a mile ahead of 
the rest of the line before they could be checked. 
It was a real battle, and being in the open through 
wheat-fields and farm lands, was much to the Amer- 
icans' liking. The boys all swung into action, laugh- 
ing and kidding each other as they charged the 
German machine guns as if they were at a drill, 
dropping every twenty yards or so to rake the 
German lines with rifle and machine-gun fire. 

We received first aid on the field and then were 
taken to the field hospitals by ambulance, being 
showered with cigarettes, chocolate, and every- 
thing. All the way every one treated us fine, doctors, 
ambulance drivers, Y.M.C.A. men, nurses, and 
Red Cross workers. We were then taken to Paris, 
where we were sent to the finest hospital I have 
ever seen. I was operated on there and had a shell 
sliver removed from my hand, after which we rode 
about two hundred miles on one of the new United 
States hospital trains, equipped regular American 
style, with every modern convenience, operating- 




ffotCAU Js/f/vS-- 



THE BOYS ALL SWUNG INTO ACTION LAUGHING AND 
KIDDING EACH OTHER " 



Breaking the News 161 

room, kitchen, doctors, and what-not. They are 
the finest hospital trains in the world. We are now 
way down in Southern France in about the finest 
hospital imaginable, and at present I am walking 
around in a suit of pajamas with bathrobe and slip- 
pers. This place is a regular summer resort. They 
are going to have a negro glee club here to-night. 
They have the latest moving pictures here each 
night. We indulge in games of every sort. We have 
a library here with the latest books. Elsie Janis was 
here a few days ago to entertain the boys, and she 
is some little entertainer. 

I am in Base Hospital No. 8, but continue writ- 
ing to me under the usual address to the company, 
as we may at any time be sent to another hospital. 
Several of the boys from my company are with me 
here, and we are all able to walk. And we 're having 
a good time together. 

Will write more to-morrow as it is almost "chow" 
time. Don't worry. I am in for a month or so of 
good times, with nothing to do. Love to all. 

A story of heroism is in the letter of Private 
Frank McCarthy to his mother. It is not a story 
about himself, but about his chum, the man who 
had been his friend in the days before the war, 
and who fulfilled the greatest duty of friendship on 
the battle-field: 



162 Dear Folks at Home 

Dear Mother: 

A FEW lines to let you know that I am feeling fine. 
I hope you got my last letter, as I know you will be 
worried if you get word from the War Department 
before you receive word from me, but you need n't 
worry, as I am able to walk around just as before. 

Mother, I suppose you read all about the Marines 
in the New York papers. Well, it was in one of those 
battles that I was wounded, but before they got me 
I was able to get to the edge of the woods and help 
to drive them out. When I was first hit I thought 
I was going to die, and I was glad that I took 
ten thousand insurance, but I did not die. Well, 
Mother, I think I will close now as I will write a 
letter to you once a week to let you know how I am 
getting along. 

Mother, if you should see Mrs. Harned tell her 
that her son saved my life. He was the first one to 
come to me when I fell inside of my own lines after 
coming in off the field. He picked me up and helped 
me in so I would n't be hit again, and put a bandage 
on, then he helped nle walk to the dressing-station. 
If it was not for him I could never made it. He 
certainly was a friend in need, and he came in the 
right time, but I have n't heard from him since. 
He may be wounded in another hospital, but I 
don't think so. Tell Aunt Marg. I will write her a 
letter in a short time. With love to all the family. 
Your loving son Frank 



Breabing the News 163 

Corporal Harold Murray, also writing to his 
mother in Chicago, made the letter shorter, but 
just as cheery. As far as his letter was concerned, 
his wound was nothing at all, and his stay in the 
hospital a vacation: 

Mother Dear: 

Just a few lines to let you know that all is well. As 
you see by the letterhead, I am in the hospital, 
wounded. It's nothing serious, though, so don't 
worry. Sorry I can't tell what's the matter, but 
you know the censors. They treat us great. To tell 
the truth, it's so nice I don't know whether I want 
to get well or not. 

Harold 

The letter of Private Elmer Meeker, to his father, 
Levi Meeker, in Cincinnati, had news that was 
almost interesting enough to make his father forget 
the wounds that had sent the boy to the hospital. 
For Elmer Meeker was lucky, and just how lucky is 
told in the following: 

I WAS wounded in the big drive on the second day 
with a machine-gun bullet. I never got to the front 
line, but was surely headed that way. 

The doctor who operated on me told me the 
bullet held hit something before striking me and 
had split in two pieces, and that one piece had 



164 Dear Folks at Home 

lodged on one side of my windpipe and one on the 
other, so you see I had a close shave. 

There is only one nurse in the ward who can un- 
derstand English, and she has a merry time "get- 
ting next" to our slang. She can't for the world 
understand how "potatoes," "murphies," and 
"spuds" all mean the same thing. 

One fellow had a sore foot and we told her he had 
a " bum runner," and she could n't "get that " at all. 
Well, we have good "eats" here and all we want. It 
is a little hard for me to swallow my food, but not 
nearly so hard as a machine-gun bullet, for I could 
n't get that down at all, so they had to cut it out. 
I intend to keep on living in spite of Fritzie. 

With the same lack of theatrics that one would 
telephone a friend about a dinner engagement, Pri- 
vate Walter S. Lamb wrote home about the fact 
that he was in a hospital. And, of course, in each 
of his two letters, was that inevitable line, "don't 
worry." The letters: 

France, June 27, 1918 
Dear Ones at Home: 

I THOUGHT I would drop you a few lines to let you 
know I am feeling fine. Am in the hospital just now. 
Got slightly wounded on the knee and was gassed. 
Am going back to duty again in a couple of daj^s. 
Well, Ed, I have seen some pretty stiff action the 



Breaking the News 165 

last month. I have a nice little watch I took off a 

German prisoner. I would like to send it to you, but 

I am afraid it might get lost. I expect to go to Paris 

soon. We are to be decorated for the work we have 

done. We surely had the squareheads on the run 

lately, and we are going to keep them that way if 

we can. Hope father and mother are well. Tell them 

not to worry about me, for I am feeling fine and 

am glad I am here. 

Give my best regards to all. „- 

Walter 

France, July 2, 1918 
Dear Brother: 

Received your letter O.K., and was glad to hear 
you are well. I am feeling fine; never felt better in 
my life. We have been doing some batthng the last 
month, as you probably have seen by the papers. 
But I have been pretty lucky. The good Lord has 
been with me. I have some souvenirs from the Ger- 
man prisoners we captured. Have a watch, a dagger, 
and a large belt with a big brass buckle on. It has 
a crown and the words, "Gott Mit Uns." Imagine, 
the dirty cowards! God with them after the work 
they have done ! Give my best regards to all and tell 
mother and father not to worry about me. Tell the 
boys and girls to write to me. I would like to hear 
from them. 

Will close with love to all. „. 

Walter 



166 Dear Folks at Home 

So enthusiastic was Leroy Harned after a few 
weeks' fighting that, when he wrote to his mother, 
he forgot to mention the fact that he was in a hos- 
pital until nearly the end of his letter. Nor did he 
tell the details of what was far more important, that 
it was he who had saved the life of Private Frank 
McCarthy, whose letter appears also in this chap- 
ter. It is simply the letter of a cheerful, modest boy, 
writing the "big news" home, and forgetting the 
heroics: 

Active Service, A.E.F., 
June 19, 1918 
Dear Mother: 

It has been so very long since I last wrote you I 
know you must be very tired of waiting for this let- 
ter to come. Since I wrote you last, we have been 
more than busy. In the last three weeks we have 
seen more action than in all the rest of the year we 
have been here. Of course, you have read the papers 
and you know where we have been and what we have 
done. 

There are no trenches up here. It is open warfare. 
And we sure have got it on the Hun at this style. 
As soon as we took over the line, we started on the 
offensive and we never let up on them as long as we 
lasted. All day long we kept advancing in different 
positions until we had straightened out the line, 
which was the objective. 



Breaking the News 167 

We captured a great many prisoners, some of 
whom were officers, and they seemed well pleased 
to be out of the fighting. They did not like our style 
of fighting at all and I expect they will like it a great 
deal less before this affair is over. 

In some cases we scared them to death with our 
nerve. In one instance, about one hundred of us ad- 
vanced fifteen hundred yards across an open field 
in broad daylight while the Huns were popping 
away at us with machine guns. We did not have 
even the help of an artillery barrage, but we walked 
right up to their pits and drove them out, with the 
bayonet. We then turned their own machine guns 
on them and we sure did wipe them out. 

But, of course, we were only a handful and we had 
to fall back to our own lines after a while. It was 
just a thrust to make Fritz miserable. In going back 
McCarthy was wounded in the side and the back. 
I did n't get a scratch out of that, though my rifle 
was hit four times. You surely must have been 
praying for me then, Mother dear. 

For three days we kept on the offensive there, 
and then our company got a day's rest in reserve. 

And then we went to a town our boys had taken 
at another point. We were in there for some time 
and all the time under a heavy bombardment. It 
was not exactly pleasant there. But at last we were 
relieved. 

While we were coming out they started to shell 



168 Dear Folks at Home 

us again, and they sent over a great many gas shells. 
On account of the nature of the country we had to 
go through, we could not bother with gas masks. 
It was a case of run through the gas and take a 
chance or stay and be killed by shrapnel. We got 
out all right, though a good many of us are affected 
by the gas more or less. I am not very bad. My lungs 
are sore and hurt some at times, and my throat is 
sore. My eyes were very bad at first, but they are 
all right now. I was very lucky. I have only one 
burn on the outside of my body and that is more of 
an itch than a burn. It was mustard gas, so there is 
nothing to worry about. We will be in first-class 
shape in a little while again. It just takes time, and 
we are certainly being treated fine now. 

I have been at two field hospitals and am now at 
a base, a long way behind the lines. It is a beautiful 
place and every one is so nice. The Red Cross people 
are always trying to find something else to do to 
make you happy, and the nurses are so good. They 
must be angels. Mother. The times when I am feel- 
ing best, I think I have been lucky to be gassed. 

It is likely my name will be in the casualty lists, 
but it is for this, so there is nothing for you to worry 
about. Mother. And now I think I will close this 
letter, and will write you again in a few days. 

With lots of love to every one, from your loving 
son, 

Leroy 




THE NURSES ARE SO GOOD" 



Breaking the News 169 

And these letters, with their optimism, with their 
cheer and their smiles, show that the Marines who 
were battling against the Hun were something more 
than fighters. They were men — men in action and 
men in thought, men who were big enough men to 
be tender and gentle, and who, while those they 
left behind "keep the home fires burning," help to 
supply the spark that gives life to the flame of hope. 



CHAPTER XVII 
ANOTHER VIEW OF IT 

There is another view of that cheer — one that 
comes from those who passed through the hospitals 
where lay the wounded men, back from the fighting. 
The cheer is still there, but it is a reverent feeling 
that grips at the heart and brings a choking into 
the throat; a cheer that causes the tears to gather 
and the smile to be one mingled with the involun- 
tary twitching that precedes a sob. Witness, as an 
example, the letter of a member of the paymaster's 
force of the Marine Corps, writing to a friend in 
America: 

Office of the Chief Paymaster 

U,S, Marines, France, A. P.O. No. 702 

Paris, France, June 17, 1918 

Dear 

The home papers have doubtless informed you of 
the achievements of the Marines in France these 
past few days, and I need not state how proud we 
are that they have lived, fought, and died in accord- 
ance with the traditions of the Corps. 

I visited one of the large military hospitals yes- 
terday and came away both stimulated and down- 
hearted. I may not tell you what I saw nor all I 



Another Yiew of It 171 

heard, but I can write that if some of the sights 
called for the utmost pity and sympathy, the de- 
mand upon one's steadiness of heart was more than 
offset by the display of patient suffering and ex- 
traordinary cheerfulness that approached the he- 
roic. Every one of these bandage-swathed men made 
light of his mutilation, and one poor fellow, both 
legs gone, remarked, with a satisfied smile: "The 
Boches may not have left me a leg to stand on, but 
I know I got three before they put me out of busi- 
ness. I plugged one, and got the other two with the 
bayonet." 

I talked with only Marines, for the real purpose of 
my visit was to get the names of those who needed 
money. A wounded man loses everything, even uni- 
forms. On going into action, his pack is left behind, 
and when carried to a first-line hospital, his cloth- 
ing, always unfit for further wear until cleaned and 
mended, is stripped from him. From the first, he 
is evacuated to a second hospital farther back, 
whence when strong enough or the place becomes 
too crowded, and facilities and time are found, he is 
again evacuated to another hospital, still farther at 
the rear. All that accompanies him is the contents 
of his pockets at the time he was wounded; watch, 
money, knife, trinkets, etc., deposited in a small 
bag which remains with or near him until he is dis- 
charged as cured, shipped home, or dead. So as a 
measure of strength returns, he clamors for money 



172 Dear Folks at Home 

with which to buy toothbrush and toilet articles. 
Later, when still further convalescent, he desires 
money for taxicabs (they are great taxicab riders, 
these wounded), car fares and restaurant "eats," 
and we aim to satisfy his just demands to the best 
of our ability. 

Not a groan, moan, or word of complaint did I 
hear, and God knows there was ample reason for all 
three. One nurse, wearing a Marine Corps emblem, 
informed me she considered herself a Marine be- 
cause of having been with our boys several months, 
and she claimed to be intensely proud of them. Un- 
til lately, she said, she had not believed such un- 
complaining endurance and unvarying good-humor 
possible in the face of such terrible suffering. One 
man actually waved the bandaged stump of an 
arm at me as he cried, "Hello, Sergeant." Please 
remember that the wound was only four days old 
and every movement of the injured member caused 
pain. But he wanted me to see what he had given 
for his country. 

If evidence were lacking of ingrained German un- 
trustworthiness and treachery, the following from 
the lips of three men, one an officer, would be ample. 
During the progress of a hot engagement a number 
of Germans, hands aloft and crying "Kamerad," 
approached a platoon of Marines, who, justifiably, 
assuming it meant surrender, waited for the Ger- 
mans to come into their lines as prisoners. When 




'they are great taxicab riders, these wounded 



Another View of It 173 

at about three hundred yards distant the first Hne of 
Germans suddenly fell flat upon their faces disclos- 
ing that they had been dragging machine guns by 
means of ropes attached to their belts. With these 
guns the rear lines immediately opened fire and 
nearly thirty Marines went down, before, with a 
yell of rage, the latter swept forward bent upon re- 
venge. I am happy to state that not a German sur- 
vived, for those who would have really surrendered 
when their dastardly ruse failed, were bayoneted 
without mercy. 

As stated, I talked separately with three different 
Marines at different times and have no doubt of the 
truth of the story. When it spreads throughout the 
Corps, it will be safe to predict that the Marines will 
never take a prisoner. Can they be blamed.'* As one 
man remarked, *'A good German is a dead Ger- 
man." Another remarked, "They are like wolves 
and can only hunt in packs. Get one alone and he 
is easy meat." Still another, "They have no guts. 
Stick him with a bayonet and he yells like a stuck 
pig." These are not the opinions of a few, but facts 
believed by a large majority. 

Little of this sounds uplifting, and smacks of cal- 
loused sensibilities. But the business that brought 
these men to France is not a refined one. It is kill or 
be killed, perhaps both, and the duty of each man 
in the American army is to kill as many of the enemy 
as may be, before he, in turn, is killed. Likewise, it 



174 Dear Folks at Home 

is his duty to study and understand the psychology 
of the German, and he does it in his crude way, al- 
though he would not understand such mental proc- 
esses by the term "psj^chology." An occupation 
lacking refinement creates unrefined descriptive 
terms, and the man whose temporary trade is 
war, chooses his own phrases and originates new 
definitions. 

Perhaps my letter shows the stimulation men- 
tioned above, and I will not deny that my patriotic 
nerves are tense with horror at what I have seen 
and pride at what our boys have done, even while 
my soul is sickened with this closer view of the red 
monster, war. In the spirit of the men seen to-day, 
I am moved to greater admiration for their quali- 
ties and an abiding faith in our ability to finish as 
we have begun. Youth of the American army, flower 
of our young manhood, my hat is off to you! May 
victory perch upon your banners, and God give you 
the reward you deserve here and hereafter! 

Forgive the tone of my letter, if it sounds too 
strong and revengeful. The large majority of the 
men who have suffered in the recent fighting are 
men of the Marine Corps, and some of them, as 
comrades, braved the dangers of the submarines 
with me, and with whom, for a time, I was cold, wet, 
and hungry. Some of the dead I can remember as 
the singers who persisted in lifting their voices in 
songs at times when all were most uncomfortable 



Another Yiew of It 175 

and conditions were the worst; some of the maimed 
were splendid specimens of physical manhood, and 
excelled in the various lines of sports and athletics. 
They were my brothers, for the once, and their 
memories are dear to me. They are dead or muti- 
lated, and the German is still unconquered. Do I 
need further excuse.^ 

Many of our blesses, or wounded, are only slightly 
wounded, lightly gassed or suffering from shell 
shock, and as soon as they are permitted a few 
hours' liberty from the hospitals, they come to our 
office for money. The word has passed among them 
that Major Bevan "is a prince" and turns no man 
away without some of the money due him. God 
knows the boys have earned it all — and more. 

We have worked like beavers these last four days 
taking care of the fellows. Macomber and I have 
handled all the cases that presented, and you must 
know it is not always plain sailing. In many cases 
there are no records at hand to show the amount 
due a man, when he was last paid, or the items that 
must be charged against his account. Where we 
have his records, we pay him in full, and in other 
cases give him a goodly portion of what he claims 
is due. 

It would sadden you to look upon some of them, 
and break your heart to see and hear others who 
are gassed. This "mustard" gas is a fearful thing, 
and if it will blister healthy flesh accustomed to 



176 Dear Folks at Home 

exposure, imagine the effect upon the eyes, and 
upon the lungs when inhaled. But after the first, or 
perhaps second, view of bandages and splints and 
hacking coughs, you would forget the sad side of 
the picture, for their indomitable spirit, cheerful 
optimism, and unquenchable desire to fight to the 
end loom large in the picture. For four days I have 
listened to much the same stories, but affording 
new side lights each time the tale was repeated. All 
is told in such a matter-of-fact manner, without 
egotism or thought of the personal bravery enter- 
ing into the tales. The recollection of what they 
accomplished and the manner of doing it is ex- 
pressed in, "We sure gave them hell." "We chased 
them all over the map." "We" did this or did that, 
and not what the individual did. Ask one of them 
if he got his man, and the chances are that he will 
tell you he is not sure. "I had a good bead on the 
beggar and he dropped when I fired, but maybe 
somebody else got him," is a common reply to such 
a question. Only in bayonet work is he certain, and 
then he glories, not in his personal superiority, but 
the superiority of the Corps in that kind of fighting, 
and waxes enthusiastic. The Marines remained 
true to tradition and charged with the old-time 
yell, which seemed to disconcert the Boches, to 
whom it is something new. The Marine must em- 
ploy the warwhoop, and yells when he starts for- 
ward, as a hound, unleashed, bays at his quarry. 



Another View of It 177 

What could be more matter-of-fact than a state- 
ment made to me this afternoon? "They (the Ger- 
mans) cut loose at us with machine guns and we 
had none at that point. We made a break and took 
some away from the Boches and drilled away with 
them." One, with no less than five wounds in his 
left arm and shoulder, declared he had had a bully 
time with his bayonet, and had almost forgotten he 
had ammunition until the fire from a machine gun 
knocked him over. Another declared that picking 
off Germans with his rifle was child's play com- 
pared with trying to qualify on a rifle range. Four 
of them lay in a wheat-field and picked off at least 
twenty Germans before their location was discov- 
ered and a shell or two dropped among the wheat. 
He was the only survivor and got off lucky with 
no more than wounds in leg, arms, shoulders, and 
head. With all this he was walking the streets of 
Paris to-day. 

Yesterday was another busy day filled with the 
same work, the same stories, the same cheerfulness 
and optimism in the face of pain, mutilation, and 
disablement. It means something these days to be 
a Marine, but I have dilated so much upon this 
theme that, for once, I will refrain. 

Remember me to all. 

As ever 



CHAPTER XVIII 
"SHE TOO IS A MARINE" 

In the estimation of the United States Marine, 
grimy and dirty and bloody, bullet-torn or shell- 
shocked, fresh from the noise and bitterness of the 
fighting line, the nurse who bandages his wounds, 
who assuages his pain, is as much of a Marine as he. 
Therefore, the following letter, from a niece of Lil- 
lian Russell, the famous actress, is as much of a 
Marine letter as any epistle from a man who wears 
the insignia of the Corps. And it shows that the 
fighting men who stopped the Hun at Belleau 
Wood and Bouresches are as beloved by those who 
ease their pain as they were feared by the Boches 
who sought to inflict it: 

American Military Hospital No. 1 
Neuilly-sur-Seine, Paris, France 

June 15, 1918 
My dearest Uncle Aleck and Aunt Nellie: 
It is so hard to write a letter these days — so much 
happening and I am allowed to say so little! 

First, your cable came and put me in fine spirits; 
I was especially low — a little too much work, a 
strained back, and the emotional stress of the men 
coming in the last ten days pretty nearly laid me 



She too is a Marine 179 

up. I am fine again, thanks to the good red blood I 
have in my veins. 

Things are getting more and more expensive; we 
are lucky to have enough good food to eat. You see 
the battle line is coming nearer and nearer. All our 
victories are coming nearer to Paris all the time. 
I wonder if you have any idea of the real situation; 
I don't believe you have. Did n't our Marines do 
glorious work.f^ Ethel's husband was in command 
and the men and the officers here can't praise him 
enough. What tales I have to tell you when I can! 
I have talked to men five hours after the fight; that 
is pretty direct news. The colonel's regiment has 
the first citation of the war — first Americans to 
turn back the Germans. How proud I am to be a 
part of it all ! The Marines in the hospital say I am 
a Marine now, too, and let me tell you, that is a 
compliment, because to be a Marine is to them to 
be the greatest thing in the world. 

They are a funny lot; have to be handled with 
care. I learned very quickly how to get on with 
them, and they do anything I tell them without 
question. One big fellow sent for me to come quickly 
yesterday; I had visions of him in agony, but when 
I got there I found a very much dressed-up woman 
weeping over him. "For God's sake, Nursie, call 
off the Lady War Worker," he said, ''and I'll take 
that bath I would n't take yesterday." 

I had tried to persuade him to go to the bathroom 



180 Dear Folks at Home 

and take a bath and he had informed me that he 
had n't had a bath for four months and he was 
d d if he would take one when he was sick. 

There 's not a cuss-word in the EngHsh or French 
language that I am not absolutely familiar with, 
and it's surprising, but after you hear them often 
enough, they don't sound so bad. Coming out of 
the ether is where we get the real choice ones. 

Have adopted another boy; this one is a Marine 
nineteen years old. Arm off at the shoulder and one 
leg out of commission. He seems just a baby, and 
the dearest youngster. We were afraid we were 
going to lose him, but he is pulling through in fine 
shape. We are all so happy about him. He thinks 
he is the luckiest boy in the world — I keep telling 
him he is all the time and now he is commencing 
to believe it. He says he never knew there were 
people like Ethel and me. His only trouble is that 
he was only in one attack and some of the fellows 
had a chance to be in three or four before they were 
picked off. What do you think of that for spirit .^^ 
Oh, I wish I could write the things the boys tell us, 
but we are warned and warned that letters contain- 
ing one word of military information or what may 
look like military information will not go through 
— so it all has to wait. 

The Marines think I am a pretty good nurse. 
What I lack in knowledge, I make up in cigarettes 
and chewing tobacco, to say nothing of cherries 



She too is a Marine 181 

(wonderful here now) and chocolate. I'll have to 
tell you some time how I get tobacco and candy 
from my officer friends. I 'm learning to be a diplo- 
mat among other things. 

None of my packages have arrived and I am 
awaiting them very impatiently. Of course, I had 
to be foolish and tell the boys in the hospital that 
the tobacco and candy were on the way, and every 
morning the first thing they ask is if the things have 
come. I say *'No," and then they damn the post- 
office and the express company and everything else 
in the world. After they get that out of their sys- 
tems they start to sing. They are a funny lot, and 
life among them is interesting, every minute of it. 

I fully intended writing Uncle Bert to thank him 
for moving my things, but have written such a long 
letter to you that I have n't time now. I wonder 
when I'm going to see you again .^^ Apres la guerre. 

Mildred 



CHAPTER XIX 
TWO SIDES OF A STORY 

Heroes, as a general rule, are modest. And in the 
case of Lieutenant Louis F. Timmerman, of the 
United States Marine Corps, the rule holds good 
in all its precepts. 

Upon the official records of Marine Corps head- 
quarters, there is filed a glowing recommendation 
for bravery, which reads as follows: 

Second Lieutenant Louis F. Timmerman, Jr., 

Company K, 6th Marines: 
Having advanced his platoon beyond all other 
elements of his battalion in an attack on enemy 
machine-gun positions in the woods on the 6th of 
June, he led his men in a bayonet charge against 
superior numbers at a critical moment and captured 
two enemy machine guns and seventeen prisoners. 
This young officer displayed remarkable qualities 
of heroism and initiative, and by seizing his oppor- 
tunity and attacking without hesitation against 
apparently unsurmountable odds inflicted severe 
damage upon the enemy. Wounded in the face by 
shrapnel, he remained at his post inspiring his men, 
performing all duties required of him and also 
carrying on his duties for twenty-four hours after 




HE REMAINED AT HIS POST INSPIRING HIS MEN 



Two Sides of a Story 183 

his battalion had gone into reserve position before 
he would consent to be evacuated. This on the 6th 
of June, 1918. 

But when Lieutenant Louis F. Timmerman wrote 
to his father, descriptive of the thing which had 
earned for him the Distinguished Service Cross, it 
was only the story of a rollicking boy who had been 
through a wonderful adventure and had the time of 
his life. Here is the way the lieutenant told the story : 

June 11, 1918 
Dearest Mother and Father: 
The first thing I want to do is to reassure you in 
regard to my condition. I am absolutely normally 
well. I was barely grazed on the left arm and chin 
by machine-gun or rifle bullets on June 6th. They 
were so slight that even in this short time the marks 
of them have practically disappeared. I am back 
on duty with the company. On the evening of the 
9th I went to the field hospital to get an injection 
of anti-toxin and came back to the company this 
morning. Major Evans said this morning that my 
name had been cabled in on the casualty list, so I 
can imagine you were worried. However, I hope 
you got my cable, which a doctor at the field hos- 
pital took in for me. 

To give you a short account of what has hap- 
pened : 



184 Dear Folks at Home 

I got back from school and joined the company, 
which had recently come to this new front, on June 
6th. The same afternoon we got orders to attack 
at 5 P.M. There are many, many details which I shall 
tell you some day, but, briefly: I took my platoon 
through two thousand yards of hostile woods under 
heavy fire, capturing some prisoners on the way. 
Advancing through Bouresches beyond the wood 
toward [deleted], our objective, I was caught under 
heavy machine-gun fire from points fifty yards to 
our left and directly in rear. My men were drop- 
ping rapidly. This all happened in a minute or so. 
I formed line to the rear and charged with the fif- 
teen men still with me. Just inside the edge of the 
wood I ran into a German group of two machine 
guns and seventeen men, and captured them ; they 
were abject with fear. Then, my objective still be- 
ing ahead of me, I advanced in the open and was 
caught under fire from the flank. I was grazed at 
this time. Then we came back to the edge of the 
wood. I gathered in men from different platoons 
and companies, about thirty -five in all, and consol- 
idated, got messenger back, and found I was far- 
thest forward. Stayed there during the night; mean- 
while the Second Battalion captured the town. The 
Germans had a large force of machine guns about 
one hundred and fifty yards to our left. Noble 
came out with what remained of his company in 
the morning, and we consolidated further. 



Two Sides of a Story 185 

The next morning, the 8th, we attacked — our 
battahon — the machine-gun position. The wood 
was covered with machine-gun fire, and although 
some of the Germans were knocked out, we suffered 
badly and had to retire a short distance, three 
hundred yards. Dug in that day and were pulled 
out into reserve the following morning. I had nine- 
teen men left in the platoon; in the first attack I 
lost fourteen men, in the second attack five, and 
two days before I arrived a shell had knocked out 
twelve, making a total of thirty-one casualties in a 
few days. Of course, the greater part are merely 
wounded and some are missing. 

I went to the dressing-station on the 7th, and 
Dr. Robertson said he would send me back for rest 
to the hospital, but I decided to stay with the com- 
pany. After we came into reserve, our battalion doc- 
tor sent me back to get the anti-toxin and a day's 
rest. I am back with the company, still in reserve. 

The company has 113 out of 242 men left, and 
the entire battalion is similarly shot up, though 
not so badly. 

However, the Marines gained a bit of ground, 
stopped the German drive, and scared the Germans 
thoroughly, inflicting heavy casualties on them. 
My platoon took a total of twenty-one prisoners. 
One was shot by one of my sergeants when he tried 
to escape; another by his own machine-gun fire. 
The rest were sent back. 



186 Dear Folks at Home 

Major Sibley and Major Evans congratulated 
me on "my good work," referring to capturing the 
machine guns, I suppose. This is all open warfare, 
and this wood fighting is pretty lively. 

The Marines have come through. The Germans 
are amazed at us. A battalion of the Fifth practi- 
cally wiped out one of their advancing battalions 
by rifle and machine-gun fire. The Germans have 
launched counter-attacks, but they were all un- 
successful. 

I hope this reaches you all right. I was in Paris 
one day and saw Renee; her mother was not at the 
hospital, on the way down. 

Lieutenants Murphy, Forward, and HoUaday 
were wounded, Murphy quite severely. 
Lots and lots of love. 

Louis 



CHAPTER XX 
OUT, IN, AND OUT AGAIN 

France, to the Marine, during the fighting days 
presented a varied picture, and the Marine is noth- 
ing if not observing. However, no matter how many 
strange sights may have passed before him, his view 
of Hfe presented only three pictures : out of action, 
in action, and out again. In the first picture he 
could see many things, such as were seen by Cor- 
poral H. W. Elliott, and detailed by him in a letter 
to his father: 

A village in France 
February 7, 1918 
Dear Dad: 

This is truly a beautiful section of France, a beau- 
tiful spot in a beautiful country. As we stepped off 
the cars which had brought us to the little way- 
side station where we disentrained, the sun was 
just beginning to lighten the mist clouds o'er the 
hills to the east. Hills they were, but mountains 
they appeared. Their crests buried in great banks 
of heavy fog gave the impression of high cloud- 
blanketed peaks, an illusion that was accentuated 
by the deep mantle of snow and the intervening 
mist. As the minutes passed and the light of dawn- 
ing day began to peep from behind the hills color- 



188 Dear Folks at Home 

ing the sky with the dehcate touch of a master ar- 
tist, we could see, away in the distance, a city of 
pine boards and tar roofing — our divisional head- 
quarters in France. 

Along the well-kept roads, from the four corners 
of the earth, winding and twisting toward the rails, 
came creeping, one after the other, big lumbering 
mule-drawn army wagons, an incessant, never- 
ending chain, supplying the boys behind the lines. 
Just a bit to the west a little group of conical tents, 
similar to the types of our American Indians, hud- 
dled close together as though for mutual protection 
against the elements. Passing up and down before 
them a French poilu with his rifle at the shoulder 
gave just the touch necessary to remind one of boy- 
hood dreams of Indians fighting and the valorous 
exploits of "Buffalo Bill." Was almost tempted to 
peek in and assure myself that no painted and be- 
feathered braves lay captive within. 

Leaving the station we marched through the 
narrow, cobbled streets of the town and out onto 
the elm-lined roads of the countryside, a pretty 
rolling country of pastures, fields, and woods. 
Here and there a dominating bluff rising high above 
its neighbors, a silent sentinel protecting the peace- 
ful hamlet at its feet from the ravaging hordes to 
the north and east. 

Through several such towns we passed, each with 
its great stone church dominating the village, its 



Out, In, and Out Again 189 

belfry housing the ancient bells that perhaps for 
centuries have called the good people to worship 
or warned them of impending danger. The stone 
cottages with their low tiled roofs and little hal- 
lowed niche above the doorway offering protection 
to a small image of the Saviour, the Virgin Mary, or 
some patron saint; a few children playing listlessly 
about the doors or in the water of the open sewers; a 
group of hens scratching busily atop the huge piles 
of manure which are found in front of every house ; 
an old man clutching a long staff, his wooden sabots 
ringing on the stones as he drives a small herd of 
cattle before him, a dog barking at their heels; 
a half-dozen housewives busily scrubbing their 
weekly linen at the long stone pool that serves as a 
public laundry. 

At last we had climbed our last hill, arrived at our 
"home" town, passed through, and turned down 
a little side road that led to our camp on the out- 
skirts. Just a handful of wooden huts, bleak and 
forbidding, but a welcome sight to our little group 
of hungry and boot-sore Americans. 

With best wishes and love. 

Harry 

However, in another letter to a friend. Corporal 
Elliott had gone nearer the front, close enough to 
hear the roar of the guns. The time to "go in" was 
nearing: 



190 Dear Folks at Home 

France, February 8, 1918 
Dear Ray: 

We sailed from our home port October 31st and 
arrived at a harbor in France the morning of No- 
vember 12th, but did not disembark until the 19th. 
Did not go to England at all, and 1 am mighty glad 
of it, after hearing some of the boys who did tell 
of their experiences there. Our duties have been 
varied, to say the least, and have taken us over a 
considerable portion of the country, inland and on 
the coast. We have worked and sweated in rain, 
mud, and snow — at times conditions have been 
very severe and at others we have practically loafed 
and enjoyed ourselves. At present we are behind the 
American lines and the rumble of guns is constantly 
in the air. Americans are everywhere — Engineers, 
Doughboys, and Marines, drilling and toiling, 
bringing closer the days of peace when we shall all 
return home. In a half-hour's stroll one will see a 
detachment busily at work in the woods, another at 
drill, steel-helmeted, gas masks hanging at their 
sides, while a third is busily engaged at machine- 
gun manoeuvres, their American mules just as 
refractory as when at home. Love to all. 

Harry 

In action? That shall come from a different source, 
from one who was not a Marine, but who had close 
association with them, and who therefore could 



Out, In, and Out Again 191 

testify to their every action, and who learned to 
know their fighting abiUty from actual experience. 
His name was Private Hebel, of the 461st Infantry, 
237th Division, of the Kaiser's army, and he wrote 
in a letter, as he lay in Belleau Wood , the following 
views of the United States Marines: 

In the field, June 11, 1918 
Forgive me that I am answering your letter at 
such a late date, but I could not do so before. We 
are having very heavy days with death before us 
hourly. Here we have no hope ever to come out. 
My company has been reduced from 120 to 30 men. 
Oh, what misery ! We are now at the worst stage of 
the offensive, the time of counter-attacks. 

We have Americans ^ opposite us who are ter- 
ribly reckless fellows. In the last eight days I have 
not slept twenty hours. 

Nor was that the only German viewpoint ex- 
pressed in those days of June. Reserve Lieutenant 
Tillmanng, of the 2d Battalion, 40th Regiment, 
Prussian Guards, thus, in his diary, changed his 
opinion of the Marines. 

June 6th: Departure from Rocourt 3 p.m. to 
Bruyeres, farther back Coincy. We had to move 

1 U.S. Marines. 

This division (the 237th) was withdrawn about June 12th, on 
account of the severe losses sustained. 



192 Dear Folks at Home 

out of Rocourt because it did not belong to our 
sector. Rear is crammed full of troops. Billets there- 
fore very scarce. 

June 7th: At the front. American troops have 
made counter-attacks, have to move to the front 
again. Route of march over Rocourt-Epaux. We 
are lying in the woods to the right of Entripelly, for 
the present in position. In the night of the 8th and 
9th we will relieve the front line. It must be a sad 
outfit which allows itself to be thrown out by the 
Americans. In the evening of the day of the 8th, 
there was heavy artillery fire. Fortunately the ar- 
tillery fire did not reach us. 

June 8th to 9th: Moved forward at night and 
relieved the 461st Regiment at 4 in the morning in 
the Bois de Belleau. Incomprehensible wide sector, 
where they have one company we have three. 

June 9th to 10th: The worst night of my life. I 
am lying in a thick woods on an open height in little 
holes behind rocks, for this is certainly heavy ar- 
tillery fire, until 6 o'clock in the morning. It is a 
wonder that the fellows were all at their posts 
when the Americans attacked. The attack, thank 
God, was repulsed. God has mercifully preserved 
me. They fight like devils. 

Lieut. Tillmanng 

Here the diary stopped, as the diary and the 
diarist were captured and taken into American 
lines by the Marines. 



Out, In, and Out Again 193 

Out of battle the world is serene again for the 
Marines, but even in its comparative calmness. 
Sergeant Curtis Bevington did not forget the things 
that had gone before: 

At last a few minutes of peace and quiet. We were 
relieved from the front line and are now far enough 
in the rear to be out of the "Dutch" 88's and the 
one-pounders. Sure an awful trip, this last one. Our 
boys made an attack — quite a brilliant one — 
with much success, but the "Dutch" put over an 
awful barrage, and every whizz of a shell brought 
a shiver, as they were falling all around my dug- 
out. A piece of shrapnel hit my mess gear while 
in my hand. Bits of it were falling everywhere. 
Wish I knew where we will go from here. At any 
rate, we will have a few days' rest here in the 
woods. 

The line from which we came is shell-torn and 
hardly a tree has its complete set of limbs. Shrap- 
nel has torn away most of the leaves. Where we are 
now the foliage is untouched, and no shell-holes. 
A few big guns near us speak their part now and 
then, but very few shells come our way. We are 
in no danger where we are now. A person full of 
sentiment and who has seen no battle front can 
never realize what a few hours' bombardment can 
do to a grove or forest. 

Captured Germans have asked to see our auto- 



194 Dear Folks at Home 

matic artillery. The artillery has surely unnerved 
them. It is sure terrible; I know from experience. 

Our "chow" the last trip up was very good, the 
ration carts coming quite close. One of my meals 
consisted of bacon, fried potatoes, toast, syrup, 
lobster, cookies, and chocolate, and also coffee. 
I really ached. Of course, the lobster was not our 
ration. A lieutenant gave me a can of lobster. The 
cookies were an issue from the Y.M.C.A. The rest, 
including hot coffee, was brought up by our cooks. 
Those boys came up to us and went back every 
night, and most of the time under shell fire; very 
fortunate, though, in the absence of casualties. 

Went on a souvenir hunt and now have a few 
"Dutch" trinkets — a pocket-book, knife, leather 
scapula case they wear around the neck, and a 
corduroy-covered canteen. 

Seems so funny to be sleeping in the open and not 
having to keep an eye on a dugout. The boys all 
seem happy, too, as they go around whistling and 
singing, and to line up in front of the cook wagons 
for hot "chow" is a big relief. 

We use candle wax in making a smokeless fire at 
the front, and one candle will cook meat, spuds, and 
coffee for two men. Canned meat is also issued, but 
is very scarce. Matches are also a very scarce arti- 
cle. One usually has some when going up, but it's 
not very long before you run out. 

Almost met my Waterloo last night. Putting my 




"the rest, including hot coffee, was brought up 

BY OUR cooks" 



Out, In, and Out Again 195 

pack down outside my dugout, a shell whizzed by 
my head and hit the dirt a few feet behind me, 
buried itself in the ground, but failed to explode. 
I sure hit my hole head first. Funny, a fellow will 
duck a shell after it has passed and all danger is 
over. But after one time in shell fire one will hide 
under a leaf. We are like an ostrich in one respect 
— cover the head and feel fairly safe. 

Tell all those who don't contribute to the Liberty 
Loans or Red Cross that they should be here, and 
after one trip they would give all to stop it. The 
Red Cross has kept us in cigarettes and tobacco for 
two weeks; also cookies, chocolate, and gum. The 
Y.M.C.A. has issued us things, too. All are a God- 
send. A piece of candy or a cooky seems to make 
you feel better. When the Red Cross issues things 
it feels as though your own people handed it to 
you, as they come from the States. Give them all 
you can. 

Peace also was reflected in a letter from Corporal 
Harold Murray to his mother in Chicago, the 
peace that follows work well done : 

At last I have a chance to write to you. Our time is 
very limited. We can count the hours of sleep on 
our right-hand fingers, and sleeping in the front- 
line trenches is not very restful. We are out now, 
but I can't say for how long. The last time we came 



196 Dear Folks at Home 

out from a "hitch" we had only just enough time 
to wash our feet before we had to serve in another 
sector. I can report that so far I have no parts 
missing. I have just fifteen letters to write in an- 
swer to those received. You see we receive our 
mail pretty regular, whether we are busy shooting 
Boches or not, and no time to answer them, con- 
sequently every time we finish a "hitch" it keeps 
us busy writing letters. 

It is raining now, but the weather has been great 
the last three days, the best I have seen over here 
so far. The trees are all in leaf and the country looks 
beautiful. Of course, the towns are razed to the 
ground for miles back of the lines and the woods and 
fields are full of barbed wire and shell-holes, but it 
seems to me that the country is made all the more 
picturesque by the horrors of war, at least in this 
particular part of the country where the hills are 
young mountains and where views may be had for 
miles from the tops of some of the highest ones. It 
certainly seems great to be able to navigate without 
tearing for a dugout every little while. 

The camp we are in now is not far from the 
trenches, and while we are within range of the 
German guns, the valley we are located in is so 
twisting and deep that it is nearly impossible to 
get shelled. Here we sleep in peace every night. 
Our bunch are seasoned veterans by this time, and 
we don't pale any more when a shell happens to 



Out, In, and Out Again 197 

tear up some ground half a mile away. You see us 
sporting our first service stripe and chevron for the 
first six months' service in France. It is a gold stripe 
worn near the bottom of the left sleeve. We are ofip 
for another one now, and if we have to stay over 
here long enough we will look like French gen- 
erals when we return home. There is a scarcity of 
paper here. I was fortunate in getting this from a 
Frenchman. 

Every one feels full of vim now that spring is 
here and the next time we get close to the Fritz 
we expect to chase them over to China. 

Give all at home my heartiest. 



CHAPTER XXI 
CAPTURED! 

"We kill or get killed." 

Such is the slogan of the United States Marine 
Corps. Inbred in their make-up is the determina- 
tion to resist capture to the end, pay the penalty 
of death if necessary, but never to say the word 
*' Surrender." 

But there are times when even a Marine, with 
his determination of death rather than surrender, 
has the misfortune to fall into the hands of the 
enemy. Such was the case with Private James 
Donohue, of Buffalo, New York, who, after having 
been gassed in an early encounter, invalided to 
England, then returned to the front line, took part 
in a raid, only to be knocked unconscious and 
captured. But Donohue came back to his "bud- 
dies," and here is his story of how he did it: 

I ATTACKED with our boys and ran into a lot of 
Fritzes. One of them hit me on the head with the 
butt of his rifle and when I woke up, I was inside the 
German lines being dragged before an officer at 
German headquarters. Every one I passed along 
the road kicked, jeered, and spit at me. 

When I landed in headquarters, a pompous 




I SAID THIRTY, BUT HE DID N T BELIEVE ME 



Captured ! 199 

German officer asked me how many divisions we 
had in France. I said, "thirty," but he did n't be- 
lieve me. A guard was then placed over me, who 
watched me all night. Just as day was breaking, 
I was roughly awakened and given an axe and 
without breakfast I had to cut a lot of brush that 
was to serve as camouflage for machine guns. 

I was working close to the front lines and Amer- 
ican machine-gun bullets whistled past me for fair. 
I had to work all that night. When I tried to snatch 
even a few minutes of sleep, a husky guard would 
give me an awful kick with a big hob-nailed boot 
and I would grab the axe and go to chopping again. 
I saw three Germans disguised in American uni- 
forms. I was getting so weak from hunger and loss 
of sleep that I thought I would go under any min- 
ute. Finally the guard gave me some black bread 
and thin, watery soup. I could not get any coffee. 

Afterward they put me to digging trenches to 
bury dead Germans in. Along with other prisoners 
we dug long rows, two and three feet deep, into 
which it seemed as if they buried the whole German 
army. 

Finally one night, I found my guard asleep. 
I walloped him over the head with my pick-axe. 
He never moved. I ran away through the woods in 
front and there chanced across some German Red 
Cross dogs. I found some canteens of water and 
hunks of bread tied on their backs, which I took. 



200 Dear Folks at Home 

All of a sudden I got where shells were bursting 
everywhere. I had to run into a barrage and thought 
it was all up with me. But I ducked along and sud- 
denly a sentry challenged me. I recognized him as 
an American and shouted at the top of my voice, 
"I am an American! Don't shoot!" 

So he passed me through the lines and that night 
I slept in the wood inside the lines and reported the 
next morning. 

The Germans have lots of big guns — ten-inch, 
I guess — but lots of Germans have been killed and 
lots wounded. The Germans seemed to be working 
hard preparing to defend their country when we 
attacked them. 



I 



CHAPTER XXII 
FROM TWO OF THE SIX THOUSAND 

It is a common saying in France that the grateful 
poilu will never cease to talk of Belleau Wood. In 
that he has company, for neither will the United 
States Marine. It was the scene of his first big 
victory on French soil, a wood where six thousand 
of his comrades fell, dead or wounded. 

Here are letters from two of the wounded. From 
the first, Corporal Willard P. Nelligan, are several 
missives to his mother, descriptive of his life be- 
fore, during, and after the battle, the first starting 
early in May, when he wrote : 

I HAVE been in the trenches for some time now, and 
it 's not as bad as I thought it would be. I 've been 
in some of the toughest places, too. Recently I was 
one of the snipers, along with the machine-gun men, 
to go out and hold a village in No Man's Land. It's 
a French strong point. I had a post in an old build- 
ing on the second floor in a corner that was still left 
of the place. I saw a Boche not very far out and put 
my telescope on him and blazed, then pulled my 
rifle. In about half an hour the artillery took four 
shots at me — high-explosive shells, too — but, 
luckily enough, they missed me, so I had to beat 
it. It was getting too hot for me. 



202 Dear Folks at Home 

The next night I volunteered and went out with 
a patrol to capture a Boche patrol which was 
thought to be there. We stayed in No Man's Land 
about three and one half hours and then, not seeing 
any signs of them, came in. 

On May 18th he wrote: 

We had a little fun up there. The Boches seemed to 
think we did n't need any sleep or eats, as they 
took that time of the day to shell us, but they 
didn't get away with it, as we had the strongest dug- 
out. The boys were all anxious to go over the top, 
but our oflScers would n't let us. Our next trip up 
we'll get a good crack at the Boches, as we won't 
rest until we go over the top. 

The boys in our platoon are a game bunch. 
When we were holding the strong point in No Man's 
Land, the boys were cursing the Boches for not 
coming over so we could get a chance at them, but 
our chance will come pretty soon. The morale of 
the boys over here is great. So far not a Marine has 
been captured, although we caught quite a few 
Boches. 

When I go out with patrols this is what I gen- 
erally carry: one pistol, one dagger, one rifle and 
a bag of hand bombs, together with a belt of rifle 
ammunition; two gas masks, one steel helmet and a 
bayonet — armed to the teeth. Sometimes we need 
all this, as it comes in handy in a pinch. 



From Two of the Six Thousand 203 

Then came Belleau Wood: 

The American boys are sm'e holding up their 
end of it. We were rushed up there on short no- 
tice after riding in auto trucks for two days. We 
shoved right behind the hne in reserve, but we 
were in reserve only four hours, when the Huns 
advanced. We pushed up to the front and opened 
up on them and gave them an awful reception. 
For two hours they kept coming, but not one 
came within a hundred yards of us. Our machine- 
gun and rifle fire was very accurate, so they stopped 
coming over. They could have come for days and 
never reached us. 

Their officers told them that the Americans were 
no good, as they have had no experience and are 
only a bunch of men with uniforms on; but when 
they clashed with us they could n't make out how 
they were cut to pieces, as they thought the Yanks 
were no fighters. 

Then their officers told them that we were n*t 
Americans; that we were the Italians. And when we 
went over after them and got in close quarters 
with them, they threw down their guns and ran, 
yelling, "They're Americans!" and "Teufelhun- 
den!" (devil dogs). That's what they call the 
Marines down at Verdun. Here's how we got the 
name: 

We had our patrols out every night in No Man's 




204 Dear Folks at Home 

Land down there, and kept pestering the Hfe out 
of them until they thought they would teach us a 
lesson; so they sent a raiding party, two hundred 
and fifty strong, to take our trenches and inciden- 
tally to get some prisoners. But we cut them to 
pieces, and instead of capturing any of us we cap- 
tured most of them. They figured it was no use 
trying to capture any Marines, and they then 
nicknamed us "Teufelhunden." It must have 
spread down the line, because when we went over 
the top after them they started yelling, as I said 
before. So when the word goes down the German 
line how we smashed their best troops, I think they 
will consider us a little better than just raw men 
ith uniforms. 

You would be surprised to see our boys before we 
went after them in this last big battle. The French 
were carrying some wounded to the rear, and shells 
were bursting all around and gas of every descrip- 
tion coming over. They just waited with a deter- 
mined look on every face. You could not break 
down their nerve with an iron bar. The word came 
to go. Bang! You should have seen the way they 
went. If I ever get out of this war alive I'll never 
forget it as long as I live. And when we saw some of 
our pals falling around us you could n't stop the 
Marines with a brick wall. Some of the boys, when 
we reached the Boches, were crying mad, and they 
just tore the Boches to pieces. 




DEVIL DOG AND BLUE DEVIL 



From Two of the Six Thousand 205 

Can you imagine what it is to lose a pal that's 
been a brother to you for a year? I don't know yet 
how many nor who were killed, but I saw some of 
my dearest friends go down. I only hope that they 
were n't killed. If one of my friends is dead, I'll 
swear never to take a German alive. He would give 
me the shoes off his feet if I did n't have any. 
That's the kind of a friend he was. I know him to 
be a man who knows no fear. He is Sergeant in our 
platoon, in charge of the platoon next to our first 
lieutenant, and he led the platoon in the drive. He 
was in the centre of the line and I was on the right 
flank with my riflemen. He came over and looked at 
me for a minute and then said, " Nellie, old boy, hold 
the right flank steady." I tried to say something, but 
words would n't come, so that was our good-bye. 

On June 3d : 

We held the Huns and mowed wave after wave 
down as they came on. They then stopped coming 
for one and one half days. I got wounded, and the 
latest news I got from the boys coming here is that 
the boys are driving them back. God! how I wish 
I could be there to help them, but I suppose I'll 
be here for some time. 

Again on June 10th: 

Am getting along fine. I was operated on the other 
day. It seems the shell went in my side and out my 



206 Dear Folks at Home 

back. Some of the later wounded said they pushed 
the Huns back six kilos. Gee! how I'd have liked 
to have been there. That's my luck when I get a 
chance to do anything I get bumped off. I had 
charge of the right flank of our platoon on the line 
as acting sergeant. The sergeant over me was put 
in charge of a "liaison post." Altogether I got 
thirteen Boches, but I'll have to get over that un- 
lucky number. When they were coming opposite 
me the Boches tried to assemble a machine gun, 
but as soon as we saw what they were up to five of 
my men's rifles cracked and there was one Boche 
left out of the four. He threw his gun down and ran 
for all he was worth, but he did n't get away. 

Finally, on June 27th: 

My wounds are coming along in grand shape. The 
American Red Cross and Salvation Army are the 
boys' friends over here. To-day I had the first dish 
of ice cream since I left the States, and a Red Cross 
nurse gave it to me. She has visited us nearly every 
day, bringing candy, smokes, and writing paper, 
and if ever we want anything we get it pretty 
quickly. 

The other letter is more graphic, the story of a 
member of the "Suicide Club" as the machine 
gunners are called, and the recital of how he got 
his wound: 



From Two of the Six Thousand 207 

Well, as I promised I will try and write a de- 
scription of the Marines' drive. This finds me feel- 
ing pretty good. I am in bed with a slight wound 
from a machine gun, but if care and attention will 
put a man on his feet I will be dancing a jig in a 
short time. 

Well, here goes for the battle. We were four days 
and nights with little sleep. We were under con- 
tinual shell fire and in addition were right at the 
mouth of our own big guns. You can imagine what 
we felt like. 

The word was passed to be ready at any minute. 
The word finally came to "fall in." 

We were marched away just before daybreak 
and did not realize where we were going until we 
swung in front of our own first line and went into 
the front in battle formation. 

My company with another was given the honor 
of forming the front lines. 

The captain came along with a rifle swung across 
his shoulder and bayonet fixed. He said, "Five 
minutes more; get all the rest you can." I lay down 
in the wet grass and said a prayer. Then the word 
came, "Lay low," as the day was fast breaking. 
Then the order, "One minute; get ready." "For- 
ward!" was the next command. 

As the boys heard that word a mighty shout of 
joy went up and rifles began to talk. Contrary to 
other attacks we went ahead without a barrage. 



208 Dear Folks at Home 

We passed through a hedge and then into the open. 
Ahead of us in the woods were the Germans. They 
opened up with machine guns. 

The boys never hesitated. They plunged right 
into the woods and then came the hand-to-hand 
battle. 

The Germans were in trenches with machine guns. 
Everywhere it was as if the heavens were pouring 
down a shower of lead. It did not take long for the 
Germans to realize they had met their masters. 
They started to retreat, but it was too late. We 
cut them down. 

Right here, let me tell you my contempt for the 
German fighter. They were supposed to be the 
Crown Prince's best. Every time one of them 
was bayoneted or shot down he squealed like a 

pig- 

We drove them back, and there was no such thing 

as giving an inch. They tried to make a last stand 

in a ravine in the woods. 

It was a sight for sore eyes to see those kids jump 
right into the face of that machine-gun pit in front 
of me, while the Germans, with a squeal like a pig, 
yelled "Kamerad!" 

My first loader [automatic gun term] and myself 
shot at once. A machine gun on our right opened 
up. One young lad jumped into the pit, downed 
four of them and saved about six of our lives. 

We drove them out of the woods and through a 



From Two of the Six Thousand 209 

wheat-field and then into a small open field where 
we attacked. We were feeling pretty good when a 
machine gun opened up on our right. I got mine 
right there and my second loader a minute after. 

My first loader, a kid of nineteen, fairly jumped 
to my side and grabbed my loaded auto-rifle in the 
face of that awful fire. My first loader and I did not 
go far, as the sergeant came back to where I was 

lying. I said, "Where is L ?" He said, " He went 

down," and shook his head. I knew then the kid 
was gone. 

I asked the sergeant for my gun. He told me I 
could n't handle it. I said, "I'll do the best I can," 
for I wanted revenge for the kid. 

About this time Sergeant C came running 

to us and said there were a lot of Germans on the 
hill and the road. We followed him and after a 
little scrap we took the hill and the road. The ser- 
geant placed my gun in a position to hold the road, 
when all of a sudden we realized we had gone too 
far in advance of the rest. 

The Germans had flanked us on both sides with 
machine guns. We ran back to the wheat-field, but 
we were too late, for they had us in a pocket. It 
was a case of crawl back or stay and get shot to 
pieces. 

I'll never forget those awful minutes getting 
through the wheat-field. I started to crawl. My 
pack was riddled. I was too high, so I lay down flat 



210 Dear Folks at Home 

and pulled myself through by catching hold of 
wheat and dirt. 

I was dragging my wounded leg and auto-rifle 
and was getting pretty weak, so when about thirty 
feet from the woods I decided to make a dash for 
it. I did and luck was with me. 

Here I met the rest forming a line. Then I fairly 
shouted as I found a machine-gun battalion form- 
ing in line. 

Up to this time we had fought with rifles and 
bayonets. I stayed long enough to see this machine 
gun go out and annihilate the Germans who 
flanked us. 

Then I started to the dressing-station. My eyes 
were opened then to the brutalities of the Germans. 
As the wounded were being carried back they had 
to pass an open space. The Germans had a machine- 
gun sniper picking off the wounded. They drove 
him off. The Germans had a one-pounder on a hill 
and they would follow you down the road for 
two hundred yards. Then they brought up a big 
gun. 

On this road I met German prisoners, one after 
another. They all had the same cry: 

"Give us something to eat; we have n't eaten in 
seven days." 

"We don't want to fight; they force us to." 

"They tell us all we have to do is walk right into 
Paris." 




4T^ 



? 



MARINE MACHINE GUNNERS 



From Two of the Six Thousand 211 

Along the road there was a crust of bread lying 
in a ditch. A German who could speak English 
begged his guard to be allowed to get it. The guard 
said "y^s," and he fairly dove for it and gulped it 
down. I know he never chewed it. 

Then came my big surprise. Up the road on the 

run came Dr. , of the Y.M.C.A., attached to 

my battalion, with a stretcher in one hand and a 
package of cigarettes in the other. 

When the Germans started to shell, the Y.M.C.A. 
men went into the midst of it and cared for and 
carried back the wounded. The men can't praise 
them enough. 

The German is a good fighter only when he out- 
numbers you ten to one and is having things his 
own way. But let them have four or five to one and 
we will drive them to hell. 

I know from that battle that they are whipped, 
because those kids (men now every one of them), 
in the face of that awful machine-gun fire, hollered 
at the top of their voices, ducked in, and came up 
hollering for more. The Germans can't stop that 
spirit. 

I could write of case after case of heroism, but to 
cite any one in particular would be doing the rest 
of them an injustice. 

Fate has certainly been kind to me to be able to 
say I am in the Marines and was in one of the com- 
panies who led the attack. 



212 Dear Folks at Home 

Well, I will have to close, as the censor will get 
tired of reading. I will soon be on my feet, and hope 
to God I don't get sent back until I see the Ger- 
mans driven to hell. 

Good-bye and good luck. 



CHAPTER XXIII 
WHAT THEY THINK ABOUT 

We ' ve all wondered the same thing — what they 
thought about, those fighters in France, when the 
shells were bursting near by and when Death hov- 
ered in the shadows. 

We've wondered if they ever laughed, if they 
ever found anything humorous. We 've — but the 
following group of letters solves many perplex- 
ities. 

The first is from Lewis A. Holmes, of the Forty- 
ninth Company, Fifth Regiment of Marines, and 
he answers a part of the question with verse: 

June 18, 1918 
My dear Mother: 

I WILL start by telling you I feel a little better; at 
least can think. No doubt you have heard about 
the great success we are having around the big and 
brave, also best, German soldiers. They might be 
big and rather brave and considered good, but we 
took all of that out of them, because we surely did 
hit their line hard and smashed it to pieces. I am 
sending a verse from a paper. I would like to explain 
how I felt during the Great Drive; but it will 
explain: 



214 Dear Folks at Home 

Where 've I been and what *ve I seen ? 
Towns and such — that what you mean ? 
That sort of answer '5 easy to give; 
But to put in words the lives we live, 
The actual things we 've all been through. 
To picture — well, just gas, to you. 
Is more than any one can do. 

What is it like up on the line ? 

Have you got a couple years of time 

To spend, while I try to describe one fight 

And endeavor to word the matter right, 

So you may know, without being there. 

How the machine-gun lads and the doughboys fare. 

Or the cooties go crawling everywhere ? 

How does it feel to go over the Top ? 

I can shrug my shoulders, but then I must stop. 

Oh, we know, all right — as a mother knows 

How it feels to her when the one boy goes — 

And does n't return — as some of us do. 

And some of us don't — each time, when it's through — 

You 'II have to wait till it happens to you. 

But I can remember this and it makes me feel so 
good to tell you and Sis. I always wondered how I 
would act and feel when in a big battle, and I have 
learned and am greatly pleased with myself. One 
place three sergeants, another private, and myself 
gave a mob of Germans we ran into unexpectedly, 
hell. 

There were about twenty-five in the bunch. But 
we never gave a thought to that. They had two 
machine guns. But we made each shot we fired 



What They Think About 215 

count. We had those old boys handling the machine 
guns so scared, all they did was to hold the guns 
in one place, and we stayed out of their way. We 
had those "Dutchmen" dropping right along. We 
finally captured their position and used their own 
guns on the other Germans who were coming to 
help them. I thought I could n't stick a man with 
a bayonet. But if you had seen me stick a six-foot 
Hun, you would kinda be surprised. I was myself. 
Ha! Before I went into it, I did n't think I could 
sit around dead men, but I 'm changed. I was lying 
on two when I hit another German while he was 
crossing an open field. I have lost all sense of feeling 
for any German. 

What we did to one German who had been 
wounded in both legs, while pretending dead (not 
knowing we were around) took two shots at a 
wounded Marine and killed him. Well, the kid with 
me jumped up and ran to the German and gave 
him a good "ole American bayonet" for his pun- 
ishment — he won't shoot another American. I 
guess you have heard enough about the war and 
you can assure every one that their American boys 
are putting the K.O. on the Big, Brave, and Best 
German soldiers. France and England are also doing 
"Grand," especially the French, they are wonderful. 

Well, the hospital is very nice. I am in the A.R.C. 
No. 1, in Paris, and we have a great many visitors; 
they bring us everything. The Red Cross people 



216 Dear Folks at Home 

are wonderful, and have some wonderful doctors. 
Every one is very proud of our work at the front. 
Your loving son 

Lewis A. Holmes 

The love of home — and its advertisement to the 
world — was strong in the heart of Roy Bramblett, 
of the Fourth Replacement Battalion. And he took 
a supreme joy in knowing that the Hun learned 
there was such a place as Montana when the 
Marines went over the top: 

Somewhere in France 

June 9, 1918 
Dear Friend Paddy and Bunch : 
I FIND myself in a very old-fashioned country 
amongst quaint people, about five hundred years 
behind the times. Had a fine trip, although tire- 
some before we landed. 

You don't know how well off the people of the 
U.S.A. are until you see how the people exist here. 
They only have about fifty square feet of land to 
call a farm and have to fertilize that six months of 
the year to raise a crop the other six. Judged by the 
condition of the inhabitants who have given up 
money and all for their men on the firing line, it 
was about time we were coming over and making 
a cleaning. 

The Marines eat 'em alive. Yesterday we cap- 




\^ 



/ro^GA-f/ ^£M^/r- 



TOOK TWO SHOTS AT A WOUNDED MARINE AND KILLED 

him" 



What They Think About 217 

tured two hundred men and their guns and ran them 
back two miles, and they are still going. We will 
scatter those " sauerkrauter eaters" before the 
summer is over, and I told mother I would be home 
on the ranch for Thanksgiving dinner this fall or 
miss my guess. 

The squareheads don't like our way of Injun 
fightin' and sure tear their tail over the hill when 
we start in to shout and yell, "Powder River, let 
'er buck!" Believe me, old Montana will be a well- 
advertised State if they all fight like the ones 

already here. 

Roy Bramblett 
4th Replacement Battalion 
Company C, U.S. Marines 

A bit more serious was the letter from Private 
Clarence Weismantel to his father. But it dis- 
played one thing plainly — that a fighting man can 
be too busy to pay much attention even to the 
bullet that hits him: 

June 13, 1918 
My dear Father: 

Just a little line to let you know I have been 
wounded on the battle-field. We got the Huns out 
in the open and we sure hit them hard. 

We were stationed at a rest camp about two 
weeks ago, when we got an order to pack up and 
leave for the front at a moment's notice, for the 



218 Dear Folks at Home 

Huns were coming through, and it was up to us to 
stop them. 

Of course, we being General Pershing's prize 
troops, were selected to show the Huns the material 
the Americans were made of, and we did. 

We just mowed them down. 

We got to where the Germans were coming, and 
we lit in and checked the drive in a couple of days. 
We sure cut down a few "Dutch," and when we 
had the drive checked with success, the French 
general thought it would be great to counter- 
attack. We got those Germans running, and I see 
by to-day's papers they are running yet, at the 
point of the Marines' bayonets. 

We were just ready to take a chateau when I was 
hit in the left arm. 

The excitement was so great that a little thing 
like a wound in the left arm could n't stop me as 
long as my legs were in good shape, so I went on 
until I got several more shots thrown into me. I 
was finally so badly wounded I could go no farther. 

I was hit in six places in all, but they are all flesh 
wounds, and I think I will get over it all right. 

I am now in a hospital at St. Nazaire, and along- 
side of me is Brother Spiegel, just as happy as the 
day we both were at a lodge meeting of the Junior 
Order, United American Mechanics No. 21, at 3331 
South Seventh Street. 

My platoon took the town we were after and 



What They Think About 219 

captured five machine guns, two trench mortars, 
and ten prisoners; not bad for us leathernecks. The 
men of this platoon are the kind of fighters who 
don't know when they are licked. 

1 took a German walking-cane from their lines, 
and it is the most wonderful piece of art we have 
ever seen. It has a big snake carved on it, stained in 
natural colors. I don't know how I will be able to 
keep it, though, because we are always on the move 
and it might get lost. 

I don't think I can send it home, but I will see 
about it to-day. 

Well, Dad, I cannot write any longer, so I will 
close, hoping this letter finds you in better condi- 
tion than it leaves me. 
Your son 

Private Clarence Weismantel 

46th Co., 6th Regiment 
U.S. M.C. 

Hugh Miller traded the game of baseball for the 
game of war. He had succeeded in the former, and 
in the latter, a Distinguished Service Cross was 
awarded him for the following act of heroism: 

Private Hugh S. Miller, 12211, Company K, 

6th Marines: 
In the engagement with the enemy in the woods on 
the 6th of June, he captured single-handed two of 



220 Dear Folks at Home 

their number. Ordered back to the rear three times 
by his commanding oflScer, he immediately returned 
to his post, refusing treatment while sick. This on 
the 6th of June, 1918. 

And Hugh S. Miller found that the thrills of the 
baseball field were as nothing. He wrote to a 
friend : 

You know it is every ball-player's ambition to play 
in a world's series.^ I had such dreams, too, pictur- 
ing myself hitting a home-run in a pinch. But say, 
that is a mere trifle compared to being decorated by 
one's country. On July 12th I was decorated by 
General Pershing with the Distinguished Service 
Cross and given a real handshake by the General 
himself. 

It was the greatest moment of my life. I shall 
never forget it. I captured two Germans, one an offi- 
cer, from whom we got some good information. 
They were the first prisoners my regiment got. 

Then after all this, I went into the last big drive 
with lots of pep and got wounded. But I am very 
thankful that I am alive, for the shell exploded right 
behind me, wounding others severely, including my 
officer, whom I assisted back to safety. 

It is great to be in a successful drive like this one, 
to see the Boches running back toward Berlin, the 
prisoners, the captured guns, ammunition supplies. 



What They Think About 221 

and to advance over mined ground. I never will 
forget the aeroplanes fighting overhead, the tanks 
charging, and other great sights. 

I think the turning-point has arrived and there 
never will be any more big German drives. One 
prisoner, who used to be a waiter in New York, said 
he had been waiting to be captured by the Ameri- 
cans. He had brothers in the States and he wants to 
get back. He says we are the fastest fighters he ever 
met, and nothing could stop us from going right on 
to Berlin. 

From cartridges to cooties: for Private William 
Bishop, Jr., Seventy-sixth Company, Sixth Regi- 
ment, United States Marines, wrote of something 
vastly more interesting to him than Boches: 

As for pleasure around here there is n't much except 
reading your shirt, which means to look it over for 
"cooties." And as for rats, they are the size of a 
five-year-old tom cat. You can't scare them. They 
crawl all over your bunks, and if you knock them 
down they just come right back again. If the Boche 
had as much nerve as the rats, or trench rabbits as 
we call them, we certainly would have a time of it. 

As for John M. Steele, of the Sixth Regiment of 
Marines, — "jyrenes" as he calls them, — there 
was only one thing that worried him — the fact 



222 Dear Folks at Home 

that the folks at home might be worrying. For 
John's troubles were nothing — except: 

Yep — I got between five Fritz balls and where 
they were going. I think the "jyrenes" must have 
stopped one hundred tons of machine-gun bullets 
and shrapnel. Did n't stop them [the Marines] ; in 
fact the German fire did n't even slow up the 
" jyrenes"; result is, Fritz is about four miles closer 
home than he was before we took this smash at him. 
The U.S. Marine Corps sure has made 'em take 
notice since we hit the front lines; guess you know 
that. We are getting the big head — guess I had 
better quit talking about the U.S. M.C. 

I am not seriously wounded and will be as good 
as new in a few weeks. Everything is as fine as it 
can be at the hospitals — going to be more like a 
vacation than being sick, after I get a little of the 
stiffness out of me. Elsie Janis is showing off for 
the boys this afternoon. I have to stay in bed. See 
the show some other time. 

Going to "knock off" for this time. Want you to 
keep the folks' spirits up. Tell them I 'm not worry- 
ing a bit and don't want them to worry — nothing 
to worry about. 

It remained for Private Douglas C. Mabbott to 
give one of the really humorous accounts of fight- 
ing life, in a letter to friends in Washington: 



What They Think About 223 

Somewhere in France 

July 8, 1918 
Dear Friends the McKees: 
If I don't write pretty soon you'll be forgetting 
all about me or thinking I 've gone west, and begun 
pushing up daisies. Don't you ever think it! In 
the month that I 've been up at the front now I 've 
been through so much of the Heinies' shell fire that 
I 'm convinced they can't kill me. I 've got so I can 
lie in a dugout and sleep through an artillery bar- 
rage, and that's going some. 

But I have reached the conclusion also that Sher- 
man's description of war was entirely inadequate. 
Showers of shrapnel, whizz-bangs, Busy Berthas, 
and German hardware stores or sea-bags (a strictly 
Marine term) bursting on all sides, during which a 
fellow knows that any moment may be his last, are 
hard enough on the nerves, but not nearly so bad 
on mine as some of the sights I see and the sounds 
I hear which are the results of such warfare. 

I have had plenty of first-hand experience with 
all these things, and about everything else you read 
about in connection with modern warfare, includ- 
ing gas and gas masks, which I like not at all. Some 
day this is going to be over, and I 'm going to bury 
that gas mask and that iron hat so deep they can't 
even sprout. In our last position in the Belleau 
Wood, we occupied a series of dugouts from which 
the Heinies had just been compelled to retire, and 



224 Dear Folks at Home 

immediately the German cooties began making 
dugouts in our hides. Since then we have been going 
through various gyrations after the manner of mon- 
keys I have seen at the Zoo. Naturally enough, we 
have all modern inconveniences in and near the 
front-line trenches. One of these is the fragrance of 
well-ripened and unburied Heinies, which I have 
several times, by volunteering, helped to alleviate. 

This portion of the front at least is so broken out 
with shell-holes that from an airplane it must look 
like a very bad case of measles or smallpox. I saw 
an American plane bring down a Boche the other 
day, from a great height, and it was a sight worth 
seeing. There are beaucoup air scouts from both 
sides continually over the front-line region, and we 
must take pains to camouflage ourselves from them 
in the daytime. Most of our work is done at night, 
anyway. I have been out on some mighty interest- 
ing night patrols in No Man's Land, been spotted 
and shot at, but got back with no punctures. 

A few days ago I had a chance to look up a cousin 
who is a corporal in the Fifth Regiment. He did n't 
know I was over here, so naturally was surprised. 
We had not met for eleven years. 

No doubt you read of the parade in Paris on the 
4th. What do you know about it — yours truly was 
one of the lucky ones to go! With a small detail 
from our company and each of the other compan- 
ies, 1 was suddenly sent direct from the front-line 



What They Think About 225 

trenches to the great city, and the morning of the 
4th found us parading down the Grand Boulevard, 
the Champs Elysees, the Avenue de President 
Wilson, and about all over Gay Paree, with the 
whole population throwing flowers at us and shout- 
ing "Vive I'Amerique" and " Vivent les Marines." 
It was pretty good to hear "La Marseillaise" and 
old "Semper Fidelis" played by an American Army 
band in Paris, and to see those fine old gray-haired 
Frenchmen take off their hats to Old Glory as we 
passed. I was glad to find how well the French 
people knew and appreciated the great part the 
Marines had taken in stopping the German drive. 
We came right back after the 4th and joined our 
companies in the woods just back of the lines, and 
that's where we are now. Where do we go from here, 
boys.'^ Marine emblems are at a premium over here, 
and the Heinies call us "Teufelhunden." We have 
got their billy-goats. 
Sincerely 

Private Douglas C. Mabbott 
79th Co., 6th Marines, A.E.F. 

Near St. Mihiel a cross rears itself above a newly 
made grave. Beneath the cross rests the body of 
Private Douglas C. Mabbott, the writer of the 
above letter, dead in battle, a hero, fighting — and 
smiling — to the end. 



CHAPTER XXIV 
JULY FOURTH — IN PARIS 

Paris! It means everything to the fighting men 
in France, the acme of every dream, every hope; 
the rainbow that shone after every battle. And 
strange as it may seem, there is many a cross- 
marked grave of an American soldier in France 
who never saw the city of fairy filament, even 
though his eyes had been upon it ever since the 
day of his enlistment. 

The exigencies of war are grim ones. There are 
millions of soldiers in France. Paris could not ac- 
commodate one tenth of them, and therefore the 
rule has been that soldiers must stay away. Even 
the defenders of Paris, those two gallant regiments 
of Marines who helped to stop the rush of the Hun 
at Chateau Thierry and Bouresches, did not see 
Paris, unless they were wounded or were chosen as 
the fortunate ones who participated in the Fourth 
of July parade. Hence the letters which follow are 
of the Heights of Joy and the Depth of Sorrow, from 
those chosen for the parade, and those forced to stay 
behind. 

Private Richard K. Kennedy, of the Sixth Ma- 
rines, was one of the fortunate ones. Thus he de- 
scribed the journey of wonders: 



July Fourth — In Paris 227 

Somewhere in France 
July 10, 1918 
Dear Brother and Sis: 

Brother, I had a real treat the 4th of July. I spent 
it in Paris. (Spent a little more than the day — 
darn little.) For the second time in my life I was 
lucky and drew a winning number. July 3d our 
platoon commander came around and selected nine 
men and five of these nine were to go. Nothing left 
but to draw straws. Little did I think Richard 
would get a long one. Well, this time I fooled them, 
was lucky enough to get the article. It was but a 
short time and we were on our way. The evening of 
the 3d found us in Paris, a big band and a vast 
crowd there to meet us. We hiked a few kilos and 
were then at our camp; after eating a bit, cleaned 
ourselves up and hit the hay, as a day's riding on 
these trains here is too much. 

The following morn found us up bright and early 
arranging our toilet for the big parade. We left 
camp about 8.30 and hiked to our meeting-place. 
The band hit up a good old march and we were 
ready to hike all over France. It was wonderful the 
way the people treated us. There were cheers and 
flowers coming from everywhere. The streets were 
covered with flowers several inches thick. 

There were several big events; one of them was 
the renaming of a certain boulevard. It was changed 
to President Wilson Boulevard and was decorated 



228 Dear Folks at Home 

beautifully. Old Glory was unfurled everywhere. 
Even on the Tower. Most every one wore the Amer- 
ican flag, and all had plenty of smiles for the boys. 
After the parade was over a big dinner was given 
by one of the large ammunition plants. The boys 
were treated royal; one American soldier and ten 
fair misses to a table. After the boys had their fill 
they had to step off a few dances. In the evening the 
boys went sight-seeing. I think I saw a bit more 
than they. I missed out on the meal so I would have 
more chance to see the place I had so long wanted 
to visit. We visited a number of places of note and 
must say it is a beautiful place. They have a won- 
derful collection of art. Most beautiful residential 
section I've ever seen. 

Was a bit disappointed in the much-heard-of 
bright lights. Must say they are more than dim 
and cease to shine after 9.30. It's great to go roam- 
ing about in the dark in a strange town. We visited 
a show and heard some real Jazz music. Maybe it 
did n't get us feel all "molested" up. This little act 
and the seeing of the Statue of Liberty caused a few 
heartaches. We had eighteen hours of real sight- 
seeing and saw nothing. A month would be very 
little time. I remain 

Your loving brother Rich 

With Raymond Brunswick, it was different. For 
Brunswick, who had hoped so hard for that trip, 



July Fourth— In Paris 229 

saw, not Paris, but the roar and rush of battle again. 
However, it all had its reward, for later he received 
the Distinguished Service Cross from the hands of 
General Pershing himself: 

I SUPPOSE you have read about the great Allied at- 
tack and how successful it was. The second division 
was not relieved on July 4th as I thought, but hur- 
ried to a new front where we all joined in and pushed 
the Germans back out of land they held for so long 
that they had German names to the streets of one 
town. The way they worked it was: one division 
would go "over the top'* each day, while a new 
one came in support. The Sixth Regiment went over 
the fourth day of the drive, and by that time the 
line had advanced so far that the artillery had not 
time to move up and we went over the top without 
a barrage, following a number of tanks. They opened 
up heavy fire on us, machine guns and high explo- 
sives. The tanks did n*t go all the way, and we 
passed them, going past our objectives, but unlike 
the other boys we were unable to get any prison- 
ers, they retreated so fast. 

We stopped and dug in under fire. The next morn- 
ing the French took up the offensive and succeeded 
in driving them still farther back. Over twenty-two 
thousand prisoners have been taken and four hun- 
dred guns. The drive is still on and I saw the Scots 
moving up last night. They may be going to the 



230 Dear Folks at Home 

same front, I don't know for sure. The English are 
also pushing the Huns back and the entire attack 
all along the line is a big success. The ground we 
took was open fields, with wheat growing, and it 
was very hard making through it. We were forced 
to dig in and wait for relief in the hot sun without 
any water and very little to eat. 

While making the attack a large shell broke near 
me and knocked me over a few times. It made me 
pretty nervous, and that night I got a little gas, so 
by the time we were relieved I was all in and the 
doctor told me I would rest better at the hospital 
back at the rest billet. So they brought us far back 
of the lines. It sure is a great relief to be out of reach 
of the guns and to have a real bed to sleep in. After I 
rest up a bit I will be able to join my company again. 

They surely treat a fellow fine here. I had my first 
bath in thirty-two days here, which was some event in 
itself. Last night was the first in a long while that I 
slept without being awakened to stand by. Accord- 
ing to the last report the drive is still going on in 
great shape, and the Germans falling back all along 
the line, leaving their guns behind. I met my old- 
time friend Brooks here in the hospital. He was shot 
in the arm, but is almost ready to leave. He was shot 
in June and was n't in this last drive. Rest is really 
all a fellow needs for gas, and since our company is 
resting it is no use for me to stay here. I tried to 
read yesterday, but every story is about war and 




HE RECEIVED THE DISTINGUISHED SERVICE CROSS FROM 
THE HANDS OF GENERA!. PERSHING HIMSELF" 



July Fourth — In Paris 231 

everything they make for soldiers or give them is in 
the shape of a shell or something pertaining to war. 
It is pretty nearly time for dinner. 

To-day is the French day of great celebration. 
We are back of the lines in some woods resting. 
Last week I got a bunch of mail dated 'way back 
in April and May. Last week four men from each 
platoon received the "D.S.C." I was one of the 
four from our platoon and I enjoyed it very much. 
While we were waiting for Pershing, the band 
played the popular airs which was the first music I 
had heard for some time. The French and English 
and American generals, besides a number of other 
officers, were here, and when General Pershing in- 
spected us there seemed to be a string of officers 
longer than the line of privates. Yesterday we re- 
ceived General Pershing's compliments and thanks 
for our work at the front. The number of prisoners 
we captured, machine guns, etc., I can't tell you, but 
General Pershing thought enough of it to compli- 
ment us. 

Some of the boys were talking this morning how 
they were going to be satisfied with "Home, Sweet 
Home," when they got back, and I told them when 
I got back I was going to dig a dugout in the back 
yard so the change would not be too sudden. 

But the really fortunate ones were the wounded, 
as far as Paris was concerned. At least, such was 



232 Dear Folks at Home 

the impression given in a letter by Private Lewis 
A. Holmes, Forty-ninth Company, Fifth Marines, 
to his mother: 

July 5, 1918 
My dear Mother: 

I've had such a wonderful time lately, especially 
yesterday, was out all day long. I have not been 
using my crutches the last few days and feel fine, 
but I get awfully tired at times, but am all right, 
so you need not worry. 

No doubt you received my other letters some 
time ago, also read of what wonderful work the Ma- 
rines did at Chateau Thierry. In Paris everybody 
is a Marine "absolutely." So guess you can be one 
too, eh! Yesterday Paris had a wonderful celebra- 
tion and a great parade of American and French 
soldiers; and there were a few men from each Ma- 
rine company who were left at Chateau Thierry. 
The streets were jammed. It was a great feeling to 
see the fellows you had fought side by side with. In 
the afternoon went to a big lunch given by the 
Blesses (wounded) and had a wonderful time. Also 
saw and heard the famous "Jazz Band" from New 
York, and as bad as my legs were I almost got up 
to dance; the music was great. 

Later I went out to dinner with a nice young lady. 
Then to the Gaumont Palace, which held a big cele- 
bration for the Blesses and enjoyed that fine. Re- 



July Fourth — In Paris 233 

turned to the hospital and enjoyed a good night's 

sleep. Then, this morning, was informed I was to 

go under ether at 2.30 this afternoon. Nothing bad, 

going to have my legs sewed up. So guess I will be 

in bed for a week or ten days again. 

I certainly have enjoyed my stay in Paris, as I 

have met a great number of people, and made a 

great many friends, and have so many visitors. All 

the nurses call me the "little spoiled boy." They 

treat me fine, every one of them. Well, Mother dear, 

that's all the news I know of; so please write soon. 

I remain your loving son 

Lewis 

And here is a letter that tells the story of France 
and America, a letter to the Second Division of 
which the Marines formed the Fourth Brigade, a 
letter from France on America's Birthday: 

Groupe des Armees du Nord 

Le General Commandant Q.G. ^th July, 1918 

Secteur Postal 106 

From General Maistre 

Commanding the G.A.N. 
To General Bundy 

Commanding the 2nd Division (U.S.A.) 

On the occasion of the National Festival of the 
United States of America, General Maistre, com- 
manding the Groupe des Armees du Nord, has great 



234 Dear Folks at Home 

pleasure in forwarding to General Bundy, Com- 
manding the 2nd Division (U.S.A.) » his sincerest 
wishes for the glory of American arms, and the 
especial success of the 2nd Division (U.S.A.). He 
takes this opportunity of expressing to the E.O.C. 
his most cordial appreciation. 

(Signed) Maistre 



CHAPTER XXV 
THE STORY OF TWO BATTLES 

The United States Marines of the Fifth or Sixth 
Regiment, who can return to America with the 
information that he survived both the Battle of 
Chateau Thierry, in which the struggle for Belleau 
Wood formed a part, and the Battle of Soissons, at 
the beginning of the great Allied offensive, July 
18th and 19th, will be hard to find, for there will 
be few of them. 

At Chateau Thierry, of the eight thousand Ma- 
rines who were rushed to aid the retreating French, 
only two thousand marched back to their billets 
when the longed-for relief came. At Tigny, Vierzy, 
and Villers-Cotteret, in the vicinity of Soissons, 
two thousand more fell. The "old gang" is nearly 
gone; few and far between are the records of men 
who survived both battles. 

Therefore, it is a bit unusual to find the letters of 
a United States Marine descriptive of the part he 
took in both struggles — as was the case with Ser- 
geant Karl P. Spencer, who wrote his mother in 
Kansas City of the two widely different phases of 
warfare. 

His first two letters were descriptive of Belleau 
Wood; 



236 Dear Folks at Home 

June 27, 1918 
My dear Mother: 

I AM taking this opportunity to write. The Lord 
only knows when I will be able to get the letter off. 
Yesterday and to-day I received beaucoup first- 
class mail and a package of eats from Paris, plum 
pudding and chocolate bars. Believe me. Mother, 
one appreciates such luxuries after existing for six 
days on Argentine bully beef, French bread, salmon 
and water. Twice the Red Cross and Y.M.C.A. 
(God bless them!) have sent us jam and cakes and 
chocolates and cigarettes. I smoke cigarettes (when 
I have them) like a trooper, and especially when I 
am lying in my hole in the ground and the shells are 
breaking all around ; they quiet one's nerves, I believe. 
In my last letter I spoke of our moving to the 
rear; instead, that very day word came for us to go 
into the front line that night. Were we disgusted.'^ 
Gee, but you should have heard us rave and swear ! 
We have been in the trenches since March 14th, 
and in this sector nearly four weeks; no leaves; no 
liberty; no rest; they must think the Marines are 
supermen or maybe mechanical devices for fighting. 
But then we have it straight from General Pershing 
that what's left of the Marine Corps will parade 
in Paris July 4th. Glory be, if this is only true. 
According to the fighting we 've done we rate some- 
thing out of the ordinary, and, of course, you know 
the Marines are credited with saving Paris. You 



The Story of Two Battles 237 

have read exaggerated accounts of our exploits, 
perhaps you would be pleased to hear the truth. 
It is a long, long story so don't weaken. 

Get you a map, locate Chateau Thierry, back 
up ten kilometres toward Paris by way of Meaux 
(Meaux was being evacuated when we arrived), 
and there you find the location of our battle-ground. 
The Germans were advancing ten kilometres a day 
when in swept the Marines, relieving the retreating 
boys and with the Eighty-second and Eighty-third 
Companies in skirmish formation, attacking, the 
Huns were stopped and in three hours lines were 
pushed back four kilometres. Our losses were slight, 
for the Germans were not prepared to meet a stone 
wall resistance such as they bumped up against and 
certainly they had no idea of an offensive move- 
ment being launched. 

The German infantry had been moving at so 
rapid a pace that their artillery could not keep up 
with them. As a result it was easy sailing for us. 
You should have seen those Huns running; they 
dropped everything and started toward Berlin. 
Twenty German planes were counted overhead that 
evening; they wanted to find out what the devil 
had interfered with their well-laid plans; what 
they saw was a wheat-field full of Marines and for 
miles behind the lines hundreds of trucks going 
forward at full speed, loaded with men, provisions, 
and munitions. The Kaiser certainly had a set-back. 



238 Dear Folks at Home 

To continue with the battle, our objective was a 
railway station, but between us and our objective 
was machine-gun Hill 142, and here the Germans 
made a last stand. The hill is a sort of plateau ris- 
ing out of Belleau Woods, but between it and the 
woods are patches of wheat and beyond the hill the 
ground slopes gently down to the railway station. 
The hilltop is covered with immense rock and be- 
hind these the Germans placed their machine guns 
and made their stand, and held out for three weeks. 
The Eighty-second and Eighty-third made one 
attack against this position. We formed in the 
wheat-field in wave formation, and with our cap- 
tain and major leading we rushed up that hill in the 
face of twenty machine guns. The woods were also 
full of German snipers. 

The attack failed; we lost all our officers and half 
our company. We were just starting when out from 
behind a rock comes an unarmed German with 
arms up in the air shouting, "Kamerad!" A dozen 
Marines rushed forward with fixed bayonets and 
stuck that man full of holes — orders were to take 
no prisoners. Many a brave Marine fell that day. 
That was our last attack. Since then six separate 
attacks were made on that hill and not until the 
other night did the Marines take it. Between the 
time of our attack and the successful one, the Ger- 
man artillery was moved up and we suffered much 
from shell fire. 



The Story of Two Battles 239 

The attack the 25th was wonderfully successful. 
We, the Eighty-second Company, were in support, 
but were not called upon. At 3 p.m. the American 
artillery opened up on the hill. The Germans sus- 
pected something and immediately began gassing 
our rear and shelling the support — us. After two 
hours of fearful bombarding, at 5.05 p.m. two com- 
panies of Marines marched up that hill in wave 
formation and never halted until they had taken 
the position. Their losses were heavy, for the whizz- 
bangs, 77's, and other German guns were playing 
a tune all over that hill and about one hundred 
Maxims were spitting fire into the ranks of our 
brave men, but at heart those Germans are cow- 
ards, and when they saw the jig was up they sur- 
rendered. Six hundred prisoners, old men, and boys 
of eighteen and nineteen years, and fifty machine 
guns were taken. One Marine private took sixty 
prisoners, and by himself marched them away. 

The inevitable followed. A counter-attack. Four 
hundred Huns attempted to retake the hill; a great 
many were taken prisoners, and several hundred 
gassed by our battery. To-day we hold the hill and 
the prospect of an early relief is bright. Not a great 
deal is to be feared from these defeated divisions, 
for the Marines have their "Nanny." 

Finish to-morrow, Mother, for it's getting too 
dark to write. 



240 Dear Folks at Home 

June 28, 1918 
I SAW a wonderfully thrilling sight several days ago 

— an air battle. For several hours a Hun plane had 
been flying low, up and down our lines, observing 
our activities and probably signaling his artillery 
our range. He was loafing over our position, when 
out from the clouds above darts a frog plane straight 
for the Hun; when within range the frog opened up 
with his machine gun and the next minute the Ger- 
man plane was nothing but a ball of fire. The avi- 
ator tried his best to get back to the German lines, 
but the wind was blowing our way, so Heinie darn 
near burned himself to death : but he turned and vol- 
planed toward our line, and when within a few feet 
of the ground he sprang out of his machine, killing 
himself. Three Boche planes were downed that day 
in this one sector. Some of our men went out this 
morning to salvage the dead Germans. They re- 
turned with watches, razors, iron crosses, pictures, 
knives, German money, gats, and all sorts of souve- 
nirs. I don't like salvaging, for the odor of a dead 
German is stifling. Nix on that stuff. The only 
souvenir I care to bring back to U.S.A. is yours 
truly. 

This has been a banner day for us. Our ration 
detail returned this a.m. with Y.M.C.A. donations 

— chocolate, cookies, raisins, sugar and syrup, and 
cigarettes. This p.m. more mail arrived, K.C. papers 
and two pair of white lisle sox from Jones Store, 



The Story of Two Battles 241 

Paris. I put one pair on immediately, although my 
feet were dirty and darn near black, due to the 
absence of water and abundance of sand. Two 
weeks ago I had a bath. That was a memorable day. 
The major decided that his boys needed washing, 
so he marched the whole battalion about twelve 
kilometres to the rear to a small village on the 
Marne River. The town had been evacuated, so 
we made ourselves at home. New potatoes, green 
peas, onions, and honey. I had honey that day, but 
I certainly paid for it. Several of us put on respira- 
tors, wrapped up well and invaded the beehives. 
I finished with eleven bee stings and a great quan- 
tity of excellent honey. After that escapade I filled 
my tummy and then went for a plunge in the river 
Marne. We were a happy crew that evening. 

Water up here is scarce. We send after drinking- 
water at night. One dares not wander very far from 
his hole during the day, except on duty, of course, 
for those deadly whizz-bangs are very muchly in 
evidence. A whizz-bang (so-called because of the 
sound it makes when hitting near by — you hear 
the whizz and immediately the bang) is a trench- 
mortar affair, calibre 88 cm., shot from a small gun 
about one and one half to two feet long, and smooth- 
bore. The shell has very little trajectory (in fact, 
the Germans use them for sniping), is filled with 
shrapnel, and its concussion is terrific. Damn it, I 
certainly hate these things! You can hear other 



242 Dear Folks at Home 

shells coming and quite often can dodge them, but 
these whizz-bangs come fast and low. 

The only writing I shall ever do when I return 
home will be a theme or so for some English Prof. 
There will be so much war bunk after this affair 
is over that the people will become sick of the word 
"war." I used to be ambitious. I desired a war cross 
and honor, but my ideas have changed. I have seen 
too many men with those ambitions go down rid- 
dled with bullets. (One of our lieutenants was shot 
twenty times while trying to rush a machine-gun 
position.) So I Ve come to the conclusion that I am 
of more value and credit to my country, to you and 
myself, as a live soldier, obedient and ready for 
duty, than as a dead hero. No grand-standing — 
just good honest team work and common sense. 
Don't be disillusioned — if I live long enough I may 
rate a sir. 

I hope Bill enjoys his work this summer. What 
would n't I give to spend several months in Den- 
ver! When I get back behind the lines and have a 
few moments' time I shall write to him. I am truly 
glad that he cannot get into the service. We have 
several kids his age with us; they are always ailing. 
Their feet hurt or something is always wrong, so 
they generally end up by being musics or galley 
slaves. The hiking about the country with a heavy 
pack and the irregular life of the trenches is just 
naturally too much for one so young. There is not 



The Story of Two Battles 243 

a man in the outfit who does not lose weight doing 
hitch in the trenches. About two months ago while 
we were at Verdun our captain and one lieutenant 
both went to the hospital physical wrecks. 

Mother, I find I can spend a pleasant hour or so 
writing about different things, so I shall not close, 
but write a few words each day until we are re- 
lieved. When I finish this document I wish you 
would send it to Grandpa — he will probably enjoy 
reading about our scrap. 

Sunday afternoon, June 30, 1918 
Oh, what a relief! Last night we were relieved on 

the front line. Relief came about , at . We 

were many miles behind the lines. We struck camp 
in a large woods. At 3 a.m. we had a hot meal; 
turned in later and slept until 11 a.m. when we ate 
again. Since then I have been swimming and feel 
like a different man. Received your June 10th letter 
a short while ago. More Y.M.C.A. supplies blew 
in, so with a full stomach and a feeling of security 
from those "Dutch" shells I am fairly happy. From 
a reliable source we are told that our battalion will 
parade in Paris July 4th and will be decorated for 
the fighting we have done this month. Will write 
you later whether or not this comes to pass. 

With love Karl 

Sgt. K. p. Spencer 
82nd Co., 6th Regiment 



244 Dear Folks at Home 

Then a rest and the order to attack — the attack 
that was to begin the doom of Germany as a 
miHtaristic power: 

July 26, 1918 
Dear Mother: 

Several weeks have intervened since my last writ- 
ing and they have, I assure you, been busy ones. 
It has been hard work twenty-four hours of the day 
for the entire AUied army, but the Germans have 
been started toward the Rhine and are still going 
according to latest reports. If I remain in France 
much longer I will know this country as well as my 
own State. The Wandering Jew had nothing on us 
— ^"ici aujourd'hui, la demain." That should be 
written of the Marines in France. The day the Ger- 
mans began an offensive on the Chateau Thierry- 
Rheims front we were standing by in a small ville 
in the rear of Chateau Thierry. 

The offensive began in the morning — the next 
morning we were in trucks riding toward Soissons. 
An Allied drive was to begin the following morning, 
July 18th, and our division was to start the ball 
rolling. After the truck ride came a forced march, 
and through one of the largest forests in France — 
immense trees eighty and ninety feet high on both 
sides of the road as far as one could see. It was a 
narrow road, but thousands and thousands of men 
were going forward over it. 



The Story of Two Battles 245 

A traflBc jam on Grand Avenue could n't com- 
pare with the congested condition of this single 
road leading through the woods. Put yourself in 
the position of a spectator sitting on a raised posi- 
tion beside the road and this is what you would 
have seen: Overhead dozens of airplanes, all of 
them Allied (the supremacy of air was necessary 
to protect and cover the movements of troops) ; fil- 
ing down the right-hand side of the road three 
columns of infantry, down the left two columns; on 
the right centre a continuous stream of vehicles, 
machine guns, carts, provision and munition trucks, 
hundreds of artillery pieces and their caissons; 
occasionally a general in his auto; large French 
tanks and British armored cars; and, probably best 
of all, the French cavalry, regiment after regiment 
going forward at a trot; on the left-hand side of the 
road coming out were trucks and ambulances and 
wagon trains and artillery limbers. 

All the Allied troops of the world were repre- 
sented here; the Americans in their khaki; Moroc- 
cans and Italians wearing a dirty brown colored 
uniform; the Scots in their kilties; Englishmen and 
Canadians in their khaki; Irish troops wearing 
tam-o-shanters and the French wearing all the 
different shades of blue imaginable — here was a 
display of colors that outclassed the rainbow. 

About 10 P.M. it began raining and we were soon 
drenched. After about an hour of sliding and slip- 



246 Dear Folks at Home 

ping around in the mud, we left the main drag and 
made camp under the trees. It was still raining, 
but we were too tired and sleepy to mind it, so we 
were soon asleep. Next morning we were awakened 
at 4.30 A.M. by the bang^ bang, of several guns, 
which was soon followed by thousands of them. I 
have never heard a barrage that could begin to 
compare with this one; we were only a couple of 
hundred yards in front of a six-inch battery and the 
concussion from these large guns was fearful. After 
two hours of this bombarding, our division, except- 
ing this regiment which was in reserve, went over. 
Little resistance was met. 

By eleven o'clock the line had been advanced 
ten kilometres; thousands of German prisoners were 
being marched back (most of them carrying in our 
wounded and a few of their own). The third line of 
Hun artillery was passed that day, hundreds of 
large guns captured, and thousands of machine 
guns. The attack had been a complete surprise, so 
the Germans had either thrown away everything 
and started running or had been taken prisoners. 

As reserves we followed the advance. The road 
was more congested than the night before, if such 
was possible. Hundreds of tanks, armored cars, and 
motor-cycle machine guns were going forward : the 
Germans were on the run; they were to keep them 
going. Toward night we made camp in the woods 
and slept. We were to attack the next morning. At 




"you SHOULD HAVE SEEN US DIG 



The Story of Two Battles 247 

4 A.M. the barrage was on and we were soon going 
forward. The attack was scheduled for 7 a.m. A 
few minutes before this hour we were formed in two 
more formations on the top of a small hill about 
one thousand yards from the Germans. 

The Germans were on the reverse side of a hill 
in front of us; about three kilometres behind them 
was the edge of a woods, our objective. While we 
were waiting, the Hun artillery and machine gun- 
ners got busy and clicked off a few casualties, 
mostly leg wounds, for they were shooting low. 

We had n't waited long until we saw the remain- 
der of the regiment coming up behind us. There 
must have been six or eight waves of them; per- 
fect lines, and at intervals of thirty yards behind 
the second wave was a line of tanks. Oh, what a 
sight ! One that even made you forget the Germans 
were only a short ways off shooting at you. This 
formation soon passed through our own and we 
followed. 

The tanks did wonderful work that day cleaning 
out machine-gun nests, but they drew much ar- 
tillery fire which inflicted many casualties on the 
infantry. The Germans threw up a barrage of high 
explosives and machine-gun bullets, but we con- 
tinued to advance and soon had taken the hill they 
had occupied. Here we dug in and awaited orders. 

You should have seen us dig — it was no time at 
all until every man had a hole of some sort. The 



248 Dear Folks at Home 

Huns seemed to control the air this day — they 
were giving their gunners our range — and some 
shots were very effective. Soon we were going for- 
ward again. This time the Germans had us for 
right — shells were hitting everywhere, many of 
them between our two waves. The Hun aviators 
saw that this barrage would n't stop us, so they 
began to open fire with their machine guns — five 
of them flying about one hundred yards overhead 
shooting at us. Again we dug in and here we re- 
mained. We gained six kilometres that day and all 
objectives were taken. That night at twelve o'clock 
we were relieved and started toward the rear. 
Since then we have been traveling in a leisurely 
manner away from the front. 

Your affectionate son 

Kabl 
Sgt. K. p. Spencer 
82nd Co., 6th Regiment, U.S. M.C. 



CHAPTER XXVI 
A PICTURE OF WAR 

War, stark, staring war, where men are dying, and 
where there are no bands to play, no flags to go 
fluttering onward, no trumpets sounding — only 
the bursting of shells, the whine of the machine- 
gun bullets, and the cries of the wounded — that 
was war on the battle-fields of France. It was 
a war that only a real man can be strong enough 
to write about in all its grisly details; such a man 
as Major Robert L. Denig, of the United States 
Marines. 

Major Denig was one of the first to participate 
in the war against Germany, leading a detachment 
of Marines from the Philadelphia Navy Yard to 
capture the interned German vessels held in port 
at Philadelphia, only an hour after the President 
signed the Declaration of War against Germany 
early on the morning of April 6, 1917. He also was 
with the first of America's military forces to reach 
France. His letter is descriptive of the opening of 
the great Allied offensive, in the vicinity of Sois- 
sons, July 18, 1918, after the last German drive 
had been turned and bent backward at the Marne. 

In honor of their heroic work at Belleau Wood, 
the Fourth Brigade of Marines, composed of the 



250 Dear Folks at Home 

Fifth and Sixth Regiments, the same regiments 
which had stopped the Hun at Belleau Wood and 
Bouresches, were called forward, as a part of the 
Second Division, to take part in the grand offensive. 
They were to break the way, to crack open the 
defenses of the Germans, and cause them to reel 
backward, that successive waves of other troops 
might drive them still farther in retreat. It was a 
task that meant death, death everywhere, with the 
glory of victory exacting a constantly mounting 
toll of lives. And of this toll, of this grim, death- 
strewn battle-field. Major Denig wrote in the 
following letter to his wife, in Philadelphia. 

We took our positions at various places to wait for 
camions that were to take us somewhere in France, 
when or for what purpose, we did not know. Wass 
passed me at the head of his company — we made a 
date for a party on our next leave. He was looking 
fine and was as happy as could be. Then Hunt, 
Keyser, and a heap of others went by. I have the 
battalion and Holcomb the regiment. Our turn to 
en-buss did not come till near midnight. 

We at last got under way after a few big "sea 
bags" had hit near by. Wilmer and I led in a tour- 
ing car. We went at a good clip and nearly got 
ditched in a couple of new shell-holes. Shells were 
falling fast by now, and as the tenth truck went 
under the bridge a big one landed near with a crash. 



A Picture of War 251 

wounded the two drivers, killed two Marines, and 
wounded five more. We did not know it at the time 
and did not notice anything wrong till we came to 
a crossroad, when we found we had only eleven 
cars all told. We found the rest of the convoy after 
a hunt, but even then were not told of the loss, and 
did not find it out till the next day. 

We were finally, after twelve hours' ride, dumped 
in a big field and, after a few hours' rest, started 
our march. It was hot as Hades and we had had 
nothing to eat since the day before. We at last 
entered a forest; troops seemed to converge on it 
from all points. We marched some six miles in the 
forest, a finer one I have never seen — deer would 
scamper ahead and we could have eaten one raw. 
At ten that night, without food, we lay down in a 
pouring rain to sleep. Troops of all kinds passed us 
in the night — a shadowy stream, over half a 
million men. Some French oflScers told us that they 
had never seen such concentration since Verdun, 
if then. 

The next day, the 18th of July, we marched 
ahead through a jam of troops, trucks, etc., and 
came at last to a ration dump, where we fell to and 
ate our heads off for the first time in nearly two 
days. When we left there, the men had bread stuck 
on their bayonets. I lugged a ham. All were loaded 
down. 

Here I passed one of Wass's lieutenants with his 



252 Dear Folks at Home 

hand wounded. He was pleased as punch and told us 
the drive was on — the first we knew of it. I then 
passed a few men of Hunt's company bringing 
prisoners to the rear. They had a colonel and his 
staff. They were well dressed, clean and polished, 
but mighty glum-looking. 

We finally stopped at the far end of the forest 
near a dressing-station, where Holcomb again took 
command. This station had been a big, fine stone 
farm, but was now a complete ruin — wounded and 
dead lay all about. Joe Murray came by with his 
head all done up — his helmet had saved him. 
The lines had gone on ahead, so we were quite safe. 
Had a fine aero battle right over us. The stunts 
that those planes did cannot be described by me. 

Late in the afternoon we advanced again. Our 
route lay over an open field covered with dead. 

We lay down on a hillside for the night near some 
captured German guns, and until dark I watched 
the cavalry — some four thousand — come up and 
take positions. 

At 3.30 the next morning Sitz woke me up and 
said we were to attack. The regiment was soon 
under way and we picked our way under cover of 
a gas-infested valley to a town where we got our 
final instructions and left our packs. I wished 
Sumner good luck and we parted. 

We formed up in a sunken road on two sides of 
a valley that was perpendicular to the enemy's 



A Picture of War 253 

front; Hughes right, Holcomb left, Sibley support. 
We now began to get a few wounded; one man 
with ashen face came charging to the rear with 
shell shock. He shook all over, foamed at the 
mouth, could not speak. I put him under a tent 
and he acted as if he had a fit. 

I heard Lieutenant Overton call to one of his 
friends to send a certain pin to his mother if he 
should get hit. 

At 8.30 we jumped off with a line of tanks in the 
lead. For two " kilos " the four lines of Marines were 
as straight as a die, and their advance over the 
open plain in the bright sunlight was a picture I 
shall never forget. The fire got hotter and hotter, 
men fell, bullets sung, shells whizzed-banged and 
the dust of battle got thick. Overton was hit by a 
big piece of shell and fell. Afterwards I heard he was 
hit in the heart, so his death was without pain. He 
was buried that night and the pin found. 

A man near me was cut in two. Others when hit 
would stand, it seemed, an hour, then fall in a heap. 
I yelled to Wilmer that each gun in the barrage 
worked from right to left, then a rabbit ran ahead 
and I watched him wondering if he would get hit. 
Good rabbit — it took my mind off the carnage. 
Looked for Hughes way over to the right; told 
Wilmer that I had a hundred dollars and be sure 
to get it. You think of all kinds of things. 

About sixty Germans jumped up out of a trench 



254 Dear Folks at Home 

and tried to surrender, but their machine guns 
opened up; we fired back, they ran, and our left 
company after them. That made a gap that had to 
be filled, so Sibley advanced one of his to do the 
job, then a shell lit in a machine-gun crew of ours 
and cleaned it out completely. 

At 10.30 we dug in — the attack just died out. 
I found a hole or old trench and when I was flat 
on my back I got some protection. Holcomb was 
next me; Wilmer some way off. We then tried to 
get reports. Two companies we never could get in 
touch with. Lloyd came in and reported he was 
holding some trenches near a mill with six men. 
Gates, with his trousers blown off, said he had 
sixteen men of various companies; another oflScer on 
the right reported he had and could see some forty 
men, all told. That, with the headquarters, was all 
we could find out about the battalion of nearly 
eight hundred. Of the twenty company oflBcers who 
went in, three came out, and one. Gates, was 
slightly wounded. 

From then on to about 8 p.m. life was a chance 
and mighty uncomfortable. It was hot as a furnace, 
no water, and they had our range to a "T.'* Three 
men lying in a shallow trench near me were blown 
to bits. 

I went to the left of the line and found eight 
wounded men in a shell-hole. I went back to Gates's 
hole and three shells landed near them. We thought 



A Picture of War 255 

they were killed, but they were not hit. You could 
hear men calling for help in the wheat-fields. Their 
cries would get weaker and weaker and die out. 
The German planes were thick in the air; they were 
in groups of from three to twenty. They would look 
us over and then we would get a pounding. One of 
our planes got shot down; he fell about a thousand 
feet, like an arrow, and hit in the field back of us. 
The tank exploded and nothing was left. 

We had a machine-gun officer with us and at six 
a runner came up and reported that Sumner was 
killed. He commanded the machine-gun company 
with us. He was hit early in the fight, by a bullet, 
I hear. I can get no details. At the start he re- 
marked: "This looks easy — they do not seem to 
have much art." Hughes's headquarters were all 
shot up. Turner lost a leg. 

Well, we just lay there all through the hot 
afternoon. 

It was great — a shell would land near by and 
you would bounce in your hole. 

As twilight came, we sent out water parties for 
the relief of the wounded. Then, we wondered if we 
would get relieved. At nine o'clock we got a mes- 
sage congratulating us, and saying the Algerians 
would take over at midnight. We then began to 
collect our wounded. Some had been evacuated 
during the day, but at that, we soon had about 
twenty on the field near us. A man who had been 



256 Dear Folks at Home 

blinded wanted me to hold his hand. Another, 
wounded in his back, wanted his head patted, and 
so it went; one man got up on his hands and knees; 
I asked him what he wanted. He said, "Look at the 
full moon," then fell dead. I had him buried, and all 
the rest I could find. 

All the time bullets sang and we prayed that 
shelling would not start while we had our wounded 
on top. 

The Algerians came up at midnight and we 
pushed out. They went over at daybreak and got 
all shot up. We made the relief under German flares 
and the light from a burning town. 

We went out as we came, through the gully and 
town, the latter by now all in ruins. The place was 
full of gas, so we had to wear our masks. We pushed 
on to the forest and fell down in our tracks and slept 
all day. That afternoon a German plane got a balloon 
and the observer jumped and landed in a high tree. 
It was some job getting him down. The wind came 
up and we had to dodge falling trees and branches. 
As it was, we lost two killed and one wounded from 
that cause. 

That night the Germans shelled us and we got 
three killed and seventeen wounded. We moved a 
bit farther back to the crossroad and after burying 
a few Germans, some of whom showed signs of 
having been wounded before, we settled down to 
a short stay. 




"we stopped to look at a new grave' 



A Picture of War 257 

It looked like rain, and so Wilmer and I went to 
an old dressing-station to salvage some cover. We 
collected a lot of bloody shelter halves and ponchos 
that had been tied to poles to make stretchers, and 
were about to go, when we stopped to look at a new 
grave. A rude cross, made of two slats from a box, 
had written on it: 

Lester S. Wass, Captain U.S. Marines 
July 18, 1918 

The old crowd at St. Nazaire and Bordeaux — 
Wass and Sumner killed, Baston and Hunt 
wounded, the latter on the 18th, a clean wound, 
I hear, through the left shoulder. We then moved 
farther to the rear and camped for the night. 
Dunlap came to look us over; his car was driven 
by a sailor who got out to talk to a few of the Ma- 
rines, when one of the latter yelled out, "Hey, 
fellows ! Any one want to see a real live gob — right 
this way.'* The gob held a regular reception : a carrier 
pigeon perched on a tree with a message. We de- 
cided to shoot him. It was then quite dark, so the 
shot missed. I then heard the following remarks as 
I tried to sleep: "Hell! he only turned around"; 
"Send up a flare"; "Call for a barrage," etc. The 
next day, farther to the rear still; a Ford was 
towed by with its front wheels on a truck. 

We are now back in a town for some rest and to 
lick our wounds. 



258 Dear Folks at Home 

As I rode down the battalion where once com- 
panies two hundred and fifty strong used to march, 
now you see fifty men with a kid second Heutenant 
in command; one company commander is not yet 
twenty-one. 

After the last attack I cashed in the gold you 
gave me and sent it home along with my back pay. 
I have no idea of being "bumped off" with money 
on my person, as, if you fall into the enemy's hand, 
you are first robbed, then buried, perhaps, but the 
first is sure. 

B as ton, the lieutenant that went to Quantico 
with father and myself, and of whom father took 
some pictures, was wounded in both legs in the Bois 
de Belleau. It was some time before he was evacu- 
ated and gas gangrene set in. He nearly lost his 
legs, I am told, but is coming out O.K. Hunt was 
wounded in the last attack, got his wounds fixed 
up, and went back again till he had to be sent out. 
Coffenberg was hit in the hand — all near him were 
killed. Talbot was hit twice, but is about again. 
That accounts for all the oflBcers in the company 
that I brought over. In the first fight one hundred 
and three of the men in that outfit were killed 
or wounded. The second fight must have about 
cleaned out the old crowd. 

The tanks, as they crushed their way through 
the wet, gray forest, looked to me like beasts of the 
pre-stone age. 



A Picture of War 259 

In the afternoon, as I lay on my back in a hole 
that I dug deeper, the dark-gray German planes, 
with their sinister black crosses, looked like Death 
hovering above. They were for many — Sumner, 
for one. He was always saying, "Denig, let's go 
ashore!" Then there was Wass whom I usually 
took dinner with — dead too. Sumner, Wass, Bas- 
ton, and Hunt — the old crowd that stuck together; 
two dead, one may never be any good any. more; 
Hunt, I hope, will be as good as ever. 

To picture a fight, mix up a lot of hungry, dirty, 
tired, and bloody men with dust, noise, and smoke. 
Forget the clean swords, prancing horses, and flap- 
ping flags. At night, a gas-filled woods, falling trees, 
and bright, blinding flashes — you can't see your 
neighbor — that is war. In the rear it is all confu- 
sion. The general told me, "Hurry to such a place, 
all goes well, we are advancing!" His staff miles 
away, all clean — one was shaving, another eating 
hot cakes — we had not had a hot bite for two days. 
As I reached my jumping-off place, wounded men, 
killed men, horses blown to bits — the contrast ! 

We advanced ten kilometres, with prisoners and 
guns, and the bells rang in New York for the vic- 
tory, while well-dressed girls and white-shirted men, 
siio doubt drank our health in many a lobster palace. 
-- -- X 

The officers mentioned in Major Denig's letter, 
with their addresses and next of kin, are: 



260 Dear Folks at Home 

Lieutenant Colonel Berton W. Sibley; Harriet 
E. Sibley, mother, Essex Junction, Vermont. 

First Lieutenant Horace Talbot; no next of kin, 
Woonsocket, Rhode Island. 

Captain Arthur H. Turner; Chas. S. Turner, 
father, 188 West River Street, Wilkes-Barre, Penn- 
sylvania. 

Captain Bailey Metcalf Coffenberg; Mrs. Eliza 
Coffenberg, 30 Jackson Street, Staten Island, New 
York. 

Captain Albert Preston Baston; Mrs. Ora Z. 
Baston, mother. Pleasant Avenue, St. Louis Park, 
Minnesota. 

Captain Lester Sherwood Wass; L. A. Wass, 
father, Gloucester, Massachusetts. 

Captain Allen M. Sumner; Mrs. Mary M. Sum- 
ner, wife, 1824 S Street, N.W., Washington, D.C. 

Lieutenant Colonel Thos. Holcomb; Mrs. Thos. 
Holcomb, wife, 1535 New Hampshire Avenue, 
Washington, D.C. 

Captain Walter H. Sitz; Emil H. Sitz, father, 
Davenport, Iowa. 

First Lieutenant John W. Overton; son of J. M. 
Overton, 901 Stahlman Building, Nashville, Ten- 
nessee. 

Major Egbert T. Lloyd; Mrs. E. T. Lloyd, wife, 
4900 Cedar Avenue, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. 

Major Ralph S. Keyser; Charles E. Keyser, 
father, Thoroughfare, Virginia. 



A Picture of War 261 

Captain Pere Wilmer; Mrs. Alice Emory Wilmer, 
mother, Centerville, Maryland. 

Lieutenant Colonel John A. Hughes; Mrs. J. A. 
Hughes, wife, care of Rear Admiral Wyeth Parkes, 
Post-Office Building, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. 

Captain Leroy P. Hunt; next of kin, wife, Wash- 
ington, D.C. 

One month after writing this letter. Major Denig 
was wounded while leading his troops at the Battle 
of the St. Mihiel salient. 



CHAPTER XXVII 
"MY BUNKIE" 

After the battle, when the relief had gone in, and 
the tired, begrimed Marine had dragged himself 
back to the rest billets, there often came the task 
that was harder than facing death itself. It was to 
take pencil and paper and write a letter — a let- 
ter to "his mother" telling how death came. 

Many a promise was made before a battle. Bunkie 
shook bunkie's hand and gave him an address. 

"If they should get me," he would whisper, 
"write mother." 

And when the battle was over, the bunkie who was 
still alive fulfilled the solemn promise. "Out there," 
somewhere, was a new-made, rough-hewn grave, per- 
haps fashioned by the very hands that afterward 
trembled with this greater task. But someway, 
somehow, the letter was written, and as a result 
unconscious classics, beautiful in their simplicity 
and sympathy, found their way across the seas 
to the waiting, anxious mothers at home. It was 
under such conditions that a letter traveled from 
Private James A. Flynn, Ninety-sixth Company, 
Sixth Regiment, United States Marines, to Mrs. L. 
Lehman, 1418 Bryn Mawr Avenue, Chicago, Illi- 
nois, telling of the death of her son, Kerlin, a letter 
inspired by genuine tenderness and grief: 




'if they should get me, write mother" 



My Bunkie 263 

My dear Mrs. Lehman: 

"Bab," as every one knew him, was only a boy. 
But he did a man's work. And he did it well. He 
was liked by every one who knew him, and the news 
of his death caused a shock to his pals even in the 
awfulness which follows a battle. 

We were advancing across a wheat-field. Ahead of 
us, in a clump of trees, was a sniper who was picking 
off some of our men. At the command of our cap- 
tain to "go get that sniper," "Bab" and two com- 
rades went after him on the double. A shell hit just 
ahead of the three, and a piece of shrapnel killed 
him instantly. Death was painless and a smile was 
on his lips. 

The Bible which I am sending you is the one 
"Bab" always carried with him and one that he 
prized very much. The bill is one some one sent him, 
and he kept it as a souvenir of the States. I hope 
these do not cause you added sorrow by their pres- 
ence. Rather, I hope that they will recall that when 
the Nation called, your boy was ready and willing 
to do or to die. 

His was a great sacrifice, but paid at once. But 
"Bab's" life has not been in vain; he has only gone 
before the rest. 

I feel unable to express my sympathy to you in 
your sorrow. "Bab" was my pal. He was like a 
brother to me and I felt his loss keenly. Trusting 
to God that time will ease the pain of the shock. 



264 Dear Folks at Home 

which, by its suddenness, seems unbearable, I re- 
main Your son's Bunkie 

Private James A. Flynn 
79th Company, 6th Regiment, U.S. M.C. 

When Private Frederick Louis Riebold and Pri- 
vate Nelson M. Shepard, of the Twenty-third Com- 
pany of the Sixth Machine-Gun Battalion, United 
States Marines, faced battle, they too made the 
promise. Riebold fell. Weeks later, Mrs. Mary Rie- 
bold, 1637 North Durham Street, Baltimore, Mary- 
land, mother of the fallen Marine, received the fol- 
lowing letter of consolation from her son's bunkie: 

My dear Mrs. Riebold : 

In writing you this, I am fulfilling a wish made to 
me by your son, shortly before we went into this 
battle we've just gone through. 

Nothing that I can say, I know, can console you 
in the loss of such a brave young son, only I want 
to let you understand how deeply we miss him, who 
have drilled with him, lived with him, and fought 
beside him. But it may help to lighten your anxiety 
to know that he died so quickly that there could 
have been no pain. And he died at his gun post, like 
the good, faithful soldier he had always been. You 
have every reason to be proud of him, as I was 
proud of him. 

Before we came here he asked me to write to you 



My Bunkie 265 

in the event that anything happened to him — and 
however deeply I deplore it, I cannot help but feel 
that there is some satisfaction in meeting death as 
bravely as he did. 

All the boys liked Fred — he was always cheerful 
and encouraging when things themselves were not 
cheerful nor encouraging, and he lived a straight, 
clean life. You have every reason to feel proud that 
you were the mother of such a boy. 

Fred's body was buried on the spot where he fell, 
June 12th, in the Bois de Belleau, near the town of 
Lucy-le-Bocage. I trust that his body and those 
of others of our comrades who were buried in those 
woods will be reburied when that is possible. Any- 
way, Mrs. Riebold, it is a fitting. place to lie, where 
one has fought and died. 

Believe me, you have my heartiest sympathy and 
those of all of Fred's comrades in the company. I 
am sorry if I have reopened memories by writing 
you like this, but I know you will be glad to know 
that your son left behind him others beside your- 
self who miss him greatly. 

Very truly yours 

Nelson M. Shepard 
Pvt. 23d Co., 6th M.G. Btn. 
U.S. M.C. 

P.S. Since writing this, I have learned that among 
others killed in action, your son has been recom- 
mended for a Croix de Guerre. N. M. S, 



266 Dear Folks at Home 

With a requiem of whining machine-gun bullets, 
two men laid a comrade to rest and placed two 
crossed bayonets above his rude-hewn grave. Then, 
when the battle had died away, one of them sought 
paper and pencil that he might write the following 
letter to Mrs. F. E. Probert, 312 South Whipple 
Street, Chicago, Illinois: 

My dear Mrs. Probert : 

Am sending you and your family the company's 

sympathy over the death of your son. 

Am glad to say, Mrs. Probert, that Frank died 
like a man and a soldier. He was killed about three 

o'clock last afternoon in an advance. Machine 

guns were sweeping the fields. It was one of these 
that got him. 

Am writing this, for I know there are many 
mothers who never know how things were at the 
end. 

Your Frank died in my arms as I was preparing 
first aid, only a few seconds after being hit. After 
that, it meant instant death to stand up, so we had 
to wait for night, but just after dark Private Sheets 
and I carried Frank to our lines and buried him. 
I can truthfully say a soldier Marine killed in action 
never had a better burial under fire. 

His grave is marked by two crossed bayonets, and 
if I come through all right I will be glad to give you 
the location, although you may rest assured that 



My Bunkie 267 

France will place a tri-color there. The kind French 
people will never let the grave die. It shall always 
be green. 

Am sending his photos and case. It 's all his per- 
sonal property. 

Your true friends 

Ben R. Roberts 
Private Sheets 
AND Company 

Private and officer alike, when death comes to 
those they love, the thought is of home and of those 
who will suffer. Thus it was that the following letter 
went forward from Major L. W. T. Waller, Jr., to 
Mrs. Mary Sumner, when Captain Allen M. Sum- 
ner, her husband, was killed in the beginning of the 
Allied counter-attack, July 19th: 

My dear Mary: 

I have been trying to get the chance to write to you 
for some days, but it has been impossible to do any- 
thing. Now that a few moments have turned up, I 
want to tell you about Allen; and, Mary, please be- 
lieve me when I say that I am more sorry than it 
is possible to express at having to write this letter 
to you. Of course, by now, you will have received 
the bare official notice of his death. His end came 
as he would have wished it, at the head of his com- 
pany at about 10 a.m. on July 19th — the second 



268 Dear Folks at Home 

morning of the big Allied attack, now still going on. 
He was struck by a fragment of a high-explosive 
shell in the stomach and died shortly afterward. His 
death was painless and he was unconscious from 
the moment he was hit. He was buried about two 
hundred yards south of the cemetery of the small 
town of Vierzy, which was about ten kilometres in- 
side the German lines when we started the advance. 
His grave is marked with a cross, and his name, and 
is a matter of record in the files of the Eighty-first 
Company. 

That company, my old company, was very badly 
cut up in this fight, but did wonderful work. We 
left the Belleau Wood area and came here by motor 
truck, taking part in the first day's attack. We 
reached Vierzy by dark and rested for the night. At 
daybreak the attack was resumed, but went slower 
than the first day; the German resistance had stif- 
fened up a great deal. 

Allen was with one of the platoons of his com- 
pany waiting for the signal to advance. They were 
under very heavy shell fire and he had placed his 
men under cover as much as possible while he re- 
mained exposed to watch for the signal. He was hit 
while so doing. His company buried him where he 
fell under very heavy shell fire. It was impossible to 
move him. I have had his field gear collected to- 
gether to save what was valuable and forwarded to 
the regular depot, from which place it will eventu- 



My Bunkie 269 

ally be sent to you. He had a trunk in storage which 
I will try to locate. As I remember it, he had some 
things stored with friends or relatives in Paris, but 
I know of no way to find out unless you know. 

It is useless to try to tell you how sorry I am; I 
simply can't express it. I know how much of a blow 
it must be to you — it is a blow to us all. We have 
lost one major and two captains killed and three 
captains wounded in this battalion, so it would 
seem as if we had had our share. 

Allen did not die in vain — he left his mark, a 
shining example to all the officers of the battalion 
to influence their conduct to make them better able 
to lead to the ultimate victory which is sure to be 
ours. 

Please let me know if I can do anything for you. 
Your cousin 

Littleton 

Back in the "old days" before the war. Captain 
Donald Duncan, of the United States Marines, and 
"Al" Sheridan were neighbors in St. Joseph, 
Missouri. Then the war came and "Al" enlisted in 
the captain's company, to click his heels and salute, 
but, when no one could hear, to call him "Don," 
just as he had done in the old days. 

France, Belleau Wood, Captain Duncan fell. 
Then out of the grime and dust hurried a figure. 
It was "Al," coming to aid his comrade, his neigh- 



270 Dear Folks at Home 

bor, his captain. In vain — even though he risked 
his Hfe in the attempt. And days afterward, "Al" 
found the strength to write to Captain Duncan's 
sister the story he sought to forget, but knew he 
would remember always: 

My dear Mrs. Cox: 

I RECEIVED Mr. Cox's letter of June 17th to-day, 
and mighty glad to hear of you all carrying your 
terrible sorrow so well. Since our Chateau Thierry 
scrap I have not been myself, due mostly to the 
loss of my best friend, and what few old men are 
left, which are very few, are all the same. 

Mr. Robertson was gassed; returned to duty in 
time for Soissons fight, and was wounded there, I 
think through the neck. So I don't know where he 
is now. We have a Lieutenant Cates, the only old 
officer left, and he has been slightly wounded. He 
is our company commander now, although only a 
second lieutenant, but a very capable man. The 
day poor Donald was killed was one terrible day 
for us all. At 5.15 p.m. we started over the top, in- 
tending to flank the enemy, as we were advancing 
through the field which was about one half mile, 
all in the open, and exposed to the Hun's terrible 
machine-gun fire and artillery. Don had on his 
best suit, carrying a swagger stick, and smoking a 
straight-stem pipe, and the coolest man on the 
field, always giving orders and smiling all the time. 



My Bunkie 271 

I was in the first platoon, and our platoon was on 
the right flank of the company, so we advanced a 
little too fast for the rest of the company, and Don 
came over and made us halt till the rest of the com- 
pany got on the line with us. At that time we were 
within six hundred yards of om* objective. While 
he was over talking to Mr. Lockhart, our platoon 
leader, the bullets were singing all around us, and 
I asked him, as a joke, if he thought we would see 
much action. He said, "Oh! yes, we will give and 
take. But be sure you take more than you give." 
I guess he meant lives. Anyway, he started away 
up the hill, and it was not a minute till down he 
went. The top soldier was with him all the time, 
and I was there in a jiffy. We got a naval doctor, a 
hospital apprentice, the top, and myself, and car- 
ried him to a small clump of trees. All the time he 
was gasping, hit through the stomach. We no more 
than laid him on the ground when a big eight-inch 
shell came in and killed all but myself. I was 
knocked down, but my helmet saved me. 

So I left them, and rejoined my platoon, just in 
time to enter the town and get a bullet through 
my cartridge belt, and exploded three shells, but 
still untouched. And at last Fritz took me down, 
with gas. But I am back again, and will be as good 
as the next man for the next five years. There's not 
a day passes that some one of the old men don't 
mention the captain, and one of his traits, which 



272 Dear Folks at Home 

are too numerous to mention. But he was the idol 
of the regiment, and every private and officer knew 
him, for his company surely advertised him. 

The major cried when he heard the news. His 
company had the reputation of being a wild bunch 
of Indians that did n't give a damn for anything. 
And it was true. But a more loyal bunch of men 
can never be gotten together again. And whenever 
a ticklish job came along, the Ninety-sixth was the 
chosen one. And we have yet to make a botch of 
our job. But now it's different: all new men and 
officers, and the same spirit does not exist as before. 
We are near Metz now, but will be relieved in a 
day or two to go behind the lines for a rest. And I 
hate to think of it, for I thought they brought us 
here to advance and take Metz. But we may have 
the chance later. 

I would rather be in the front line than any place 
in France, because I am tired of the job, and want 
to finish it. The day poor Don left us was a bad day 
for Fritz. For we did n't take very many prisoners. 
All we could see was blood. And it's my motto from 
now on. I enjoy knifing a big squarehead more than 
my meals. 

Did Mrs. Duncan receive my letter.? My memory 
is not the best in the world now, and it's hard to 
write any kind of a letter. This game we are playing 
is enough to put a man in the mad-house. 

Give my very best regards to the Duncan family, 



My Bunkie 273 

and your own, and also Miss Mary Owen. I often 
think of you all. Sincerely, your friend 

Al " 

In Belleau Wood, Walter Spearing, of Phila- 
delphia, Pennsylvania, a University of Pennsyl- 
vania man, who had been one of the first Marines 
to "ship over," received the wounds which caused 
his death. His comrade in arms had been "Sol" Se- 
gal, of Alliance, Ohio, barely twenty years old. And 
when the grave had been filled, "Sol" sat beside it 
and, upon paper captured from a German dugout, 
wrote a letter of consolation to Spearing's mother 
that is destined to become a classic — in the Marine 
Corps, at least. A letter of an overwhelmed man 
it is, a man grieving for the "bunkie" who is gone, 
yet strengthening the mother who, he knows, 
grieves deeper than he: 

At the Front, June 26, 1918 
Dear Mrs. Spearing: 

There is grief in my heart and in the hearts of all 
of my comrades for the great sorrow that this war 
has brought to you and to us. We all unite to ex- 
press our heartfelt sympathy and condolence to 
the mother and family of one who has fallen in a 
cause as imperishable as will be the names of those 
who have fallen to defend it. Should there be any- 
thing my comrades and I can do to mitigate your 



274 Dear Folks at Home 

grief and to allay your sorrow — some little keep- 
sake of Walt as a Marine, perhaps — but name it, 
dear lady, and it shall traverse the ocean to you. 

Because you do not know me, please do not think 
it presumptuous for me to write. You are Walter's 
mother — I was his inseparable friend and com- 
rade; that makes us two kindred souls in common 
grief for our nearest and dearest. Then, too, this 
letter fulfills a duty that I am bound by oath and 
will to perform. Many months ago, Walt and I 
promised each other, that, should the "God of 
Battles" call to one, the other would console the 
sorrowing mother. Now Walt has gone West to 
Home and to you forever, but his figure, his voice, 
his wonderful personality will always be living 
truths to me. I, myself, should the great call come, 
will go gladly, confident of a reunion and with faith 
in the eternal truth of that cause for which I die. 

Beneath the green in Belleau Woods, forever 
connected with the "Honor of the Marines," lies 
Walt with two comrades, dead on the "Field of 
Honor." Above their graves the stately pines sway 
in their grandeur, an imperishable monument. But 
greatest of all epitaphs is that engraved within the 
hearts of his comrades. "A man, than whom there 
was no peer in kindliness, in understanding, in 
comradeship, beyond compare." We alone know 
what could have been had circumstances so willed 
it. Whatever befall, whatever sorrow fills us, one 



My Bunkie 275 

thing I swear to you, here hard by that lonely grave 
— the very paper that I write upon taken in a cap- 
tured German dugout — I swear that Walt is well 
avenged, that he has not died in vain, for his spirit 
leads us on to ultimate victory. You are proud, I 
know, for you are the mother of a martyr — a mar- 
tyr in a holy cause. Freedom and Liberty. 

Dear lady, the very thought that you are in grief 
tears my heart. Do not sorrow; death, after all, is 
not so terrible, and here — why, here it is glorious. 

Mother, in the name of the Twenty-third Com- 
pany, in the name of the Marines, I salute you, and 
all my comrades salute you. 

Devotedly 

Sol Segal 



CHAPTER XXVIII 
THE REWARD OF THE BRAVE 

Danger of death, then the reward. Sometimes it 
is a grave with a slanting cross, sometimes a wound 
that means months in the hospital, sometimes a 
whole skin and the Distinguished Service Cross. 
And sometimes, as was the case with Sergeant 
Arthur R. M. Ganoe, it is a greater knowledge of 
why we live, a greater understanding of the beau- 
ties of gratitude and the love that lives in the hearts 
of those for whom you have fought. Sometimes — 
But it is better told in the letter itself by the 
sergeant, a former newspaper man of Pittsburgh, 
Pennsylvania, writing to his old editor, A. W. 
Brown, Sunday editor of the Pittsburgh Gazette- 
Times. Mr. Brown has copyrighted liie letter, and 
it is used here with his permission. It is a letter 
that started to tell a story of a Fourth of July 
parade, and ended with a sermon: 

(Copjrrigkt, 1918, by A. W. Brown; reprinted by permission.) 

Dear Brownie: 

Up to the last moment, same being July 1st, we 
had held tenaciously to the belief that our division 
would be relieved to parade in Paris on the Fourth 
— Paris, the Mecca in our dreams of France. We 



The Reward of the Brave 277 

were wild to see such a historically famous city, to 
recognize with our own two eyes those places de- 
scribed by all manner of writers since Paris was a 
name to conjure with, to prove the truth of the 
tales of romance, adventure, and hospitality the 
few brought back who had been and seen. Some of 
us had been in the land twelve months, all of us 
three, yet those who had sighted Eiffel Tower could 
be counted on the fingers of one hand. The motor 
train that had deposited us, a barrier to the ad- 
vancing Huns, passed within nineteen kilometres 
of the city. That was the closest we ever had come 
in all our journeying over France. No matter where 
we went we kept our eyes on the direction signs 
along the way and every one that bore the magic 
"Paris" mark elicited comment, and the first ques- 
tion we put to a Frenchman on entering his village 
was, "How far to Paris.^" So we knew when we hit 

the line at L that we were between seventy 

and eighty kilometres north of the capital. We 
found the Germans coming and coming fast. In- 
deed, between our embarkation for and arrival on 
the scene they had captured the very town we were 
supposed to have occupied, and the hard-pressed 
Men in Blue were all in. We asked why the Ger- 
mans were so slow about shelling L . *'0h, no," 

they said, "the Boches would not bombard this 

town now. They wish to use it for billets to-night." 

Imagine our amazement! "To-night?" we all 



278 Dear Folks at Home 

shouted. "To-night, hell! We're going to billet 
here to-night ourselves." They smiled the way all 
Frenchmen smile at the madness of Americans and 
they left us to contest with Fritz, who was only the 
length of a ten-acre field away, the priority billet 

claim on L . Well, possession is always nine 

tenths ownership, so we used just that much of the 
town. We ceded Fritz the streets as his tenth be- 
cause he swept them with Maxims. Keeping him 
out sort of riled the Hun, and next morning, as 
the sun shot the eastern horizon a fiery red, he sent 

his first shell into L . That was two months ago. 

To-day not even a bat could billet there, for what 
once was a good-sized village is now nothing but a 
good-sized rock-pile. Long, long years from now, 
when the velvety green moss of France has mantled 
and neutralized the jagged face of that shattered vil- 
lage, it will be displayed with pride as the monument 
to the first Americans who stopped a German drive. 
After these same Americans had swept the Ger- 
mans back on a twenty-kilometre front, had deci- 
mated three Boche divisions and engaged seven 
others, after twenty-five days' continuous fighting 
on the hottest front in Europe, Dame Rumor said 
we would parade in Paris on Independence Day as 
a reward. We did n't want to parade. Participation 
in former parades had dampened our ardor for 
parading, but — Paris ! We would do most any- 
thing to get to Paris. 



The Reward of the Brave 279 

You see, we never questioned the rumor, because 
we wished to beheve it. We began to play a safer 
safety -first game. We were n't going to be *' bumped 
off" on the eve of a great adventure if we could 
help it. Where the longest chances with death had 
been taken, now even the shortest were quibbled 
over. Where the ration detail had walked boldly 
over open fields, defying the Austrian 88 's, they 
now sought the thickest cover. Men who seemed to 
have an evil genius for being in sight when a recon- 
noitring Boche plane came over, stuck to their dug- 
outs. In a thousand little ways the safety game was 
played up to the last moment. But when July 1st 
came and went with us still in the first battle line, 
our diminishing hopes flickered into oblivion. We 
were in bitter despair, despairing of ever seeing 
beloved Paris. But along with our dead hopes came 
a sort of relief. Toward the last we had been swept 
back and forth between doubt and faith until we 
did n't know what we really did think. So a nervous 
strain was relieved when our hopes were strangled 
and we crawled into our dugouts after dinner July 
2d, the only meal we had had in two days, and went 
to sleep. 

My slumber was like a beautiful blue lake, lying 
under a summer sun, fringed with soft green trees, 
the glassy surface mirroring little fluffy clouds that 
hung enchanted by the reflection of their own silver 
whiteness. Suddenly a rough, harsh wind broke up 



280 Dear Folks at Home 

the glassy surface, sent the child-clouds scurrying, 
and bent the graceful trees into fantastic shapes. 
I awoke to the most dreaded word of the A.E.F. 
in my ears: "Outside with your pack and equip- 
ment!" Little briskness was displayed in the pack- 
ward move. I must question the rude disturber of 
my slumber. Why was I invariably the victim when 
it came to guides for new movements, ration de- 
tails, guard details, and all details .f^ 

"Shake it up, Ganoe, if you want to get these 

men back to M by six!" shouted the Top. 

Back to M , ten kilometres, by six o'clock! 

It was now 4.40 p.m. 

"What's the idea.''" I inquired of the lieutenant, 
who, in lieu of any other oflScer, was CO., and a 
fine chap, too. 

" Just got orders to send twenty men and an officer 
to Paris for the parade. In view of the fact that 
we're in the front line and the company actually 
needs me, and it would bring a G.C.M. tumbling 
about my ears, and that I am the most unlucky 
devil outside a hospital — considering all these 
things, I have decided to stay here and send you as 
my representative." 

He broke into a rusty laugh. Two seconds later 
I recovered and we started the craziest trip men 
ever made. 

Now, Fritz, among his miscellaneous collection 
of life-taking instruments, has what is dubbed 



The Reward of the Brave 281 

"whizz-bangs." Their chief characteristic is the 
absence of shrieking accompaniment. They are 
Austrian 88's, a long-barreled cannon, rifled to 
perfection, and manned by the best gunners of the 
Central Alliance. It may sound foolish, but Fritz 
uses them for nothing but sniping — uses them as 
we use the rifle, and with most deadly effect. 
Many's the solitary cross along the lines of com- 
munication marking the heroic end of some runner 
or orderly that testifies to the accuracy of aim of 
the 88-gunner. 

Well, each company on the line sent back 
twenty men in broad daylight. Although we were 
lucky enough to come through unscratched, to this 
moment I see red whenever I think of how those 
durned Hun gunners must have chuckled over that 
wild game of hide-and-seek. Before leaving the 
shelter of the wood I divided the detail into three 
sections. I took the first section and placed cor- 
porals in charge of the other two, with orders to 
follow at five-minute intervals. Have you ever seen 
a big jack-rabbit crossing a Wyoming plain .^^ I 
imagine our progress bore a close resemblance. We 
darted from ditch to bush, from bush to wall, and 
from wall back to ditch, always with an 88 shell a 
close second. It was hot beyond power of descrip- 
tion. We were out of water. I poured water from 
my canteen in the face of a lad who fainted. It 
actually seemed at one time as if we would make 



282 Dear Folks at Home 

the ten kilometres in an hour and a quarter. The 
pounding of the 88 's at the different details re- 
sembled a barrage. 

When we had made five kilometres and emerged 
on the Paris-Metz highway we were done! Men 
carrying all their belongings, a rifle, two hundred 
and twenty rounds of ammunition, and a gas mask 
can't imitate the gamboling lamb long. We got 
down in the ditch on the far side of the road, un- 
slung equipment, lay flat on our backs, and between 
gasps cursed Fritz as the shells burst all around us. 
After throwing many shells at where we had dis- 
appeared, Fritz either gave it up or concluded he 
had done for us. We resumed the hike after a 

half-hour rest, and hit M at 8.30 p.m., finding 

the cupboard bare. From there we hiked back 

three kilometres to S and boarded trucks at 

eleven. At 2 a.m. we piled off in a field and turned 
in, thinking to get a few hours' much-needed 
rest. 

We were some collection! Out of the whole bri- 
gade there were approximately one thousand 
Marines. We were muddy and dirty, ragged and 
torn — well, the worst tramp I ever saw could have 
regained his self-respect by one glimpse of us! We 
were exhausted and hungry, and broke. Our feet 
were blistered and our backs were a great big ache, 
but we fell asleep to dream of the welcome of gay 
Paree ! 



The Reward of the Brave 283 

Short-lived dreams! "Everybody up!" came at 
3 A.M. The quartermaster had arrived with our new 
clothes. Never in the history of the Marine Corps 
was there such an issue of clothing. We shouted the 
sizes of the articles we wanted, and we got the 
nearest thing to it, or that which lay closest to the 
dispenser's hand. For two hours there was a con- 
tinual stream of clothes in the air. When the sun 
brightened our surroundings, we located the Marne 
River and there was a grand rush for the bank. 
It was cold enough to discourage a fish, but we 
had n't seen water for a month. When we finished 
we were the queerest assortment of blue and pur- 
ple animals outside the Zoo, but we were clean. 
Then came breakfast — a spoonful of salmon, slice 
of bread, and cup of coffee. x\n insult to our appe- 
tites, yes! But we bided our time! We were go- 
ing TO Paris! We all felt sorry for our comrades 
back on the battle line. After breakfast we hiked 

to N and the railroad. They packed forty-one 

of us in each dinky little box car, but we did n't 
kick. There was n't room to move one's feet. At 
ten o'clock the trip was begun. It was seventy- 
seven kilometres to Paris. Noon came, but no din- 
ner. At one we sighted the Eiffel Tower. But we 
could n't eat that. Our spirits rose, however, and 
we actually became cheerful in our hunger. We 
were feasting our eyes. When at two o'clock the 
Tower had not grown closer, we began to remark 



284 Dear Folks at Home 

with sarcasm the inevitable (in) directness of French 
methods. At three we were cursing every French- 
man who ever had anything to do with building 
railroads, and at four we included every inhabi- 
tant of France in our railings at French ineffi- 
ciency. For the Eiffel Tower was quite as distant as 
it had been at one o'clock. Curse these winding 
railroads ! 

Then with a startling swoop we descended into 
Paris, crossed the Seine, and found ourselves lined 
up on the cobblestones at the base of the Eiffel 
Tower. All within an hour! 

But our jubilation was short-lived. We hiked 
six miles over cobblestoned streets at attention. 
At seven o'clock we hit Boulange, a suburb, and 
cleaned up for supper. We got a cup of tea and 
a slice of brown bread, with the order to stay in 
billets. Were they starving us for the feast on 
the morrow .f^ No, there was n't any mutiny. I 
saw a fellow counting francs. When he reached 
forty I reached the end of my endurance. With 
twenty of his francs warming a spot over my heart, 
I eluded eleven sentries, and, although I was dead 
on my feet, I was starving also, and I finally lo- 
cated a joint where fried eggs in unlimited num- 
bers were procurable. I won't tell you how many 
I took in and entertained. You would n't believe 
me. They had no butter. A Frenchman at another 
table, learning I was a United States Marine, left 



The Reward of the Brave 285 

hurriedly and came back with a pound, which he 
presented to me. I did finally persuade him to 
accept a glass of wine in return. 

Did you ever get drunk eating.^ Well, you spend 
a month at the battle front, where you are lucky 
to average a meal a day, and that shot full of holes 
as a cheese by enemy shells, and then get back 
where you can get all you want! Believe me, it's 
possible ! 

The next morning, July 4th, our Independence 
Day, at 4.30, we turned out for parade. We dragged 
the six miles back to Paris and stood on alternate 
feet until 11 a.m. We were the tail of the procession 
and we were a sore tail. 

We started off. The streets were lined, lined many 
deep, with people. There were many, many chil- 
dren; beautiful, beautiful children. The farther 
we went the noisier grew the gladsome crowds. 
The streets were carpeted with flowers. Children 
dashed out with roses. They thrust them in our 
arms. 

They caught the wording on our standard. 
"ViVENT LES Marines!" the wondrous cry went 
up. It swelled and echoed. It raced ahead of us. 
The children broke through the soldiers who pressed 
the crowds back. The dear ones! They took us by 
the hands! Their lovely faces, like flowers, looked 
love into ours! 

The papers said that we glanced neither to right 



286 Dear Folks at Home 

nor to left: that we marched doggedly on, with 
determined, set faces. 

God! How could we look at those beaming 
people, who thought us heroes? How could we. 
How COULD WE, look otherwise? For our jaws 
were clenched to keep back the blinding tears! 

Our numbed hearts were thawed, melted, and 
broken by this wondrous welcome! Bless you, we 
nearly went to pieces. Some one loved us again! 
Everybody loved us, the United States Marines, 
who they said had saved Paris! Oh, the bitter 
sweet anguish ! A whole nation showered gratitude ! 
I thought our leathern spirits had run the wildest 
gamut of emotions: But this welcome! It broke 
our hearts and made them whole again! Our bat- 
tered spirits are nursed by cheers. We are caressed 
by myriad loving eyes. The hair on the back of 
my head stiffens painfully. My eyes burn as with 
caustic. A great lump of agony chokes my throat. 
Tears from the depths of some divine emotion 
ache in our eyes, burn our cheeks. O won- 
drous Paris ! They shall not, shall not, take you 
from us! We would give our immortal souls for 
you! 

Suddenly my heart seems cold and dead. For my 
thoughts revert continually to those lonely graves, 
'way back there in the woods, to the hastily con- 
structed crosses that mark the real heroes, those 
who deserve this loving recognition. I think of the 




DEAR GOD,' SHE PRAYED, *MAY I NEVER MEET THE 
GERMANS"* 



The Reward of the Brave 287 

comrades grimly holding the line, the life-line of 
the world, while we receive a great people's honors. 
I feel like an interloper, a purloiner of the rights of 
others more deserving. I feel the honor is too great 
to bear. I stumble on. 

A sweet little girl bows her lovely head over my 
free hand. She looks up at me. And her two starry 
eyes glisten with tears! 

"Dear God," she prayed, "may I never meet 
the Germans!" 

Though I may be battered into forgetting the 
fight our brave forefathers waged for liberty, the 
aching hearts of American mothers, the dead we 
cannot bury, the bloody trails and mutilated 
bodies, the moaning misery of hospitals, the pitiful 
procession of aged refugees, I might still hope for 
redemption. But may I make fast to the hottest 
pier in hell if I ever forget the appeal in that little 
French child's eyes! 

After the parade we were feted and entertained, 
decked out in flowers and ribbons, flattered and 
praised until we almost thought ourselves some- 
body. 

Then we went back — back to the roar and 
din of battle. But we went back different men! We 
went back better fighters, braver than when we 
left. 

For the cries of the little children were ringing 
in our ears! 



288 Dear Folks at Home 

It is such things that make victory — that 
uphold men and calm them in the face of death — 
*'For a httle child shall lead them." 

Arthur R. M. Ganoe 
Sergeant, 74th Co., 6th Regiment, 
United States Marines, A.E.F. 
Base Hospital No. 20 
Somewhere in France 



THE END 



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